


Inhale

by fallingleaves



Series: Breathe [3]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Dentists, Fear of Dentists, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Phobia, Medical Procedures, Past Medical Experimentation, Past Non-Con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:24:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 73,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7421662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingleaves/pseuds/fallingleaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry was kidnapped and experimented on by General Eiling's successor.  With the help of the Arrow, his friends and family rescued him, but he had a long recovery, and it's not over yet.  Left with a debilitating medical phobia, he slowly regained a sense of normalcy, and ended up creating a tentative friendship with one Leonard Snart along the way.  Several months later, Len and Barry are together and Barry is doing much better, but problems continue to pop up, some expected, some not.</p><p>Or, there's a little (not so little) problem Barry didn't tell anyone about, Len's afraid of the dentist, they're both idiots, and Barry continues to work on recovery.  Oh, and they love each other :)</p><p>Also, this is now Earth 14.  Officially. (if someone else already claimed earth 14 please let me know I'll change it thanks)<br/>Takes place a month after "Drowning" and two months after "Learning to Breathe"  Not strictly neccesary to have read these to read this one, but it would certainly help.  SEE INSIDE FOR WARNINGS</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Worth the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> OK, first off, I'm back! If you're reading the series, or just came across this but love Barry whump, "Learning to Breathe" is first, and very heavy on Barry's recovering in medical situations, "Drowning" is very intense, and is entirely focused on one incident in which Barry is hurt, and "Inhale" is next, and this will be primarily on Barry and Len's relationship. That beings said:
> 
> WARNING - graphic medical situations, panic attacks, and PTSD. This will probably all be slightly less than the previous two stories in the series, but it will still play a role. ALSO, past non-con and some sexual content. These are the only new warning for this fic, as opposed to the other two in the series. There will not be straight porn (sorry) but there will be sexual content. It will be limited to this story within the series. As far as the non-con goes, if this doesn't bother you, please now continue to the story to avoid spoilers. If this does bother you, please read the following for more in-depth warning notes:
> 
> All non-con is past. There will be no present non-con in this story. That being said, there will be flash-backs, in-depth discussion, and it will be a point of focus. The non-con that will be discussed in this story was clinical. By that I mean that the non-con occurred while Barry was captured, and the doctors who experimented on him tested his sperm counts and how his speed effects his sexual health (or, you know, the fact that he has no refractory period). I refer to it as non-con and not rape because there was no insertion of anything into his body, and no one else directly gained sexual satisfaction or pleasure from what they did to him (although there will be a creepy doctor who seemed to enjoy his job a little too much, and this is not to say that the non-con depicted isn't just as scarring as rape can be, or not obviously just as wrong and terrible of the people who did it, I'm just referring to it as non-con and not rape). If you need to know anything else, comment and ask and I'll let you know. If you're not sure if this will trigger you, play it safe and hit the back arrow now. Although I'd love for you to read my story, there's plenty of other great fics. I'm not going to put individual chapter warnings, because it's pretty much going to be continuous throughout chapters, but if there's ever going to be anything particularly graphic or different from what I put here, then I'll label it with a warning.
> 
> Anyway, if you read all that, I applaud you, and sorry for such a long note this time - just want to make sure everything is clear for warnings. Happy reading :)

            They had been dating for almost two months.  Two days from two months actually.  They were going out for dinner.

            Len had no fucking clue what to get him.

            It had started out fine.  More than fine.  Len had it all planned out.  Nice, romantic reservation at one of the better restaurants in town, followed by a walk down the pier in the (albeit kind of sketchy) more remote sections of the beach.  (Len had a cold gun and his boyfriend could run faster than sound – he wasn’t that concerned.)  And once they were at the beach house (read, shack) that Len occasionally used as a safe house, he was going to pull out The Gift.

            The Gift, which was a state of the art telescope complete with scope, stand, and a bunch of other stuff Len didn’t understand.  And it was all from legitimate cash.  Daytime cash.  Len had saved up.  The Gift.  The Gift to end all gifts.

            It was backordered.

            It took all of Len’s self-control not to steal one.  All of it.  Every.  Last.  Drop.

            So now Len was stuck with no Gift and no gift either and had to figure out if he was going to just bite the bullet and order it with the promise to Barry of it coming in soon or if he was going to find something else. 

            “I don’t know why you’re so hung up over it, Lenny,” Lisa said.  “It’s a two month anniversary.  That’s hardly an anniversary at all.  Just get him something small – something nice, personal.  He’ll love that.”

            “It’s not just a two month anniversary,” Len said, “it’s a big deal.”

            Lisa gave him a look.  “One month is a big deal.  Half year is a big deal.  One year is a big deal.  Two months?  Small deal.  Dinner.  Nice little gift.  That’ll be fine.”

            Len ignored her and kept pacing.  “First month anniversary was a disaster.  This one needs to be good.”

            Lisa winced.  “That was when the building collapsed on him?”

            Len nodded.  Len also had a special dinner planned that time, but wound up spending it with Barry at Star Labs, while Barry begged him not to let Caitlin do anything more.  He cringed. 

            “That’s why this has to be special,” Len said.

            “Can’t you just take him out to a moonlit picnic or something?  He’d love that.  Cheesy.  Romantic.  Buy the guy some flowers.”

            “You are not being helpful,” Len said.

            “Well your brooding isn’t exactly proving very successful either.”

            “Fireworks,” Mick said.  He was sitting in the corner, and just nodded, face stoic.

            “I’m not setting off fireworks,” Len said.  “One, that’s illegal, and two, no.”

            “It’s only kind of illegal,” Lisa put in.

            “He works for the CCPD,” Len said, in exasperation.

            “Eh,” Lisa said.  “He also runs around in a red suit as a vigilante.”

            “No fireworks,” Len said.  His tone was threatening.

            Mick just shrugged.

            “Well what does he like?” Lisa asked.

            “Science,” Len said immediately, “and impossible things.  And Netflix.”

            “How descriptive.”

            “Lis–” Len started, about at the end of his rope.

            “OK, so he likes science stuff.  You’re thinking too broad, Lenny.  What does he like that’s small.  Personal.  Something that you two share.”

            “I don’t know.  We both had father’s in jail?”

            Lisa glared at him.  “Try again, Lenny.”

            “Crime fighting.  And committing.”

            “Best to leave that one out of it.”

            “Puns.”

            “You have puns – he groans and tolerates them.”

            “Ice cream.  We both love ice cream.”

            “Better.”

            “And soccer?”

            “Smaller.”

            “Dostoevsky.”

            “What?” Mick asked.

            “The author,” Lisa put in.  She shook her head.  “Cheesier.”

            “I’m not good at chee-”

            “Yes you are, you just don’t know it.  Be romantic.  Flowers, sunshine.  OK, you know what, new tactic – sentimental.  What do you think of when you think of Barry and sentimental.”

            Len paused to think.  What did he think?  He thought of the way Barry looked when he smiled, and then when he glared.  He thought of those first few meetings where he knew he was fucked already, that he had already gotten in over his head.  He thought of them baking cupcakes for one of Iris’s party, and what a terrible cook Barry was.  He thought of walks in the city, on the beach, in parks.  He thought of the bad times, sitting with Barry through panic attacks, calming him down, holding him when he needed it.  And he thought of Barry’s family – his friends.  The slow acceptance, the turning points that lit up their eyes one by one.  And Barry’s steadfast surety that they all would eventually, that they all would come around, that Len did not have to be this black point in his life he spent tiptoeing around, or better yet, that Len just leave the picture altogether now, before he got in too deep.

            “I think of how he gave me another chance,” Len said.

            Lisa snapped her fingers, but she could already see the wheels turning in Len’s eyes.  “See,” she said, “now go from there.”

           

 

 

 

            “I am not coordinated enough for this.”

            “That’s why I’m leading you.”

            “I’m going to trip.”

            “I won’t let you trip.”

            Len had Barry with his eyes closed, leading him forward with his hands against Barry’s shoulders.  They’re on the beach, Len’s original plan, but there’s no telescope waiting.  Instead there’s the stars, a basket with some blankets and food in it (because they might have just eaten but he’s sure Barry’s hungry anyway) and The New Gift.  Which he isn’t sure is worthy of the title, but he’s trusting Lisa on this one, and himself as well.  It feels right, and Len’s going with that.

            “OK, open your eyes.”

            Barry opened his eyes, taking just a second to adjust.  It was dark out but there was a clear sky and they’re on the edge of the city so the light pollution isn’t too bad.  They could make out the stars, anyway.  The sea was crashing softly against the sand and they were up the incline a bit, just close enough to watch it all, to see the reflection of the moon scattered in the waves.  Barry just smiled.

            “Probably not much of a surprise,” Len said, “sure you could tell we were walking on sand.”

            “It’s great,” Barry said, and turned around.  “Worth the darkness.”  And he kissed him.

            Len picked up the stored basket, hidden in the grass behind them.  He took out the blankets and spread them out while Barry started pulling out the food and drinks.

            They laid down.  It was quiet there, as quiet as Central ever got, anyway.  Barry closed his eyes and breathed in, the scent of ocean and sand and Len.  He melted in it.

            After a while, Barry started to shift, and Len looked over.  Barry sat up, and looked around anxiously. 

            “So,” he said, “I know it’s a two month anniversary.  So not really a big thing.  But um… I got you something.  Just… um, something small.”

            Len sat up.  “I did too.”

            Barry’s face went surprised.  “Oh,” he said, “oh, I – I didn’t think you would.”

            Len gave a half-smile.  “Well, the one month wasn’t exactly fantastic, so.”  Barry winced, the memory still too fresh.  Len moved along quickly.  “But you go ahead.  I mean, if you want to.  First.”

            Barry nodded, and then fumbled in his jacket pocket for what felt like far too long.  He pulled out a small, square box.  Len took it slowly.  He unwrapped it carefully, not wanting to make a mess outside, but also to watch Barry’s eyes, which were focused intently on the box, like he was holding his breath.  Len almost laughed.

            When he finally opened it – Len took in a sharp breath.  And then his stomach dropped.

            “Scarlet…” he said, shaking his head and looking down.  Barry’s face immediately fell.

            “Did you already get a new one?  Is it the silver?  I know the other was black.  I have the receipt.”

            “No, no,” Len said, “no, Barry, fuck, this – it’s great, I mean, it’s beautiful, damn, but – this had to be way too expensive.  Barry, I can’t –”

            “No,” Barry said, and there was a scowl on his face suddenly, “I can buy nice things too.  I have a job, Len.  I’m not broke.  Let me do things for you too.”

            Len still shook his head.  “Scarlet, you do things for me all the time, you – damn, Barr, I…”  He looked up, and Barry’s eyes were so wide, a little excitement there, hope, and Len’s mouth shut.  “It’s perfect,” he said instead, “it’s absolutely perfect.”

            A silver watch with gold inlets and an ice blue ring around the clock face, along with a detailed pattern behind the numbers in the same color – it was beautiful, and it was perfect, was exactly what he had been looking for since his old one broke.

            Barry grinned.  “So you like it?  Don’t just say that.  I have the receipt, really.”

            “Scarlet, I love it,” Len said, “How did you even find this?”

            “Amazon,” Barry said with another grin.  “I thought, you know, your thing with time.  Counting seconds.  And the blue.  I was just browsing around, but then I saw the blue.”

            “It’s perfect,” he said again, and then felt another twist in his gut, because damn how was he supposed to match up to that?

            “Alright,” he said, summoning a smile, “your turn.”  He pulled out the box from where he’d grabbed it from the basket, and handed it over.

            Barry tore the wrapping paper off, and Len snorted.  Just like him.  No patience for anything.

            Before Len had even registered it, the cover was off and Barry was looking in the box and his jaw dropped open.  Now Len was holding his breath.

            “I love it,” Barry said.  His tone was final, decided, almost flat in its totality.

            Len’s brow furrowed.  “Are you –”

            “It’s beautiful, and also awesome, and I love it.”

            “It’s a phoe-”

            “Phoenix,” Barry said, nodding, looking up at him suddenly, and his eyes were somehow swimming, rolling in more than Len could identify.  “Rebirth.  Born through fire.  I know.  It’s perfect and I love it and you’re perfect and this whole night has been wonderful.”

            Len was a little taken aback.  What he’d finally picked out, had decided on, was a keychain of all things.  It was a little keychain with an intricately carved phoenix, the details of the feathers colored over in glaze and fired on, a beautiful red-orange mix.  “I’m glad,” he managed to say, before Barry was suddenly hugging him.

            “Thank you,” he said, chin on his shoulder and squeezing hard.

            “Your welcome,” Len said, “and thank you too.  The phoenix.  It’s supposed to be both of us, kind of.  Being there for you, afterwards, and helping you make a new start, but, you know, you giving me a second chance too.  So thank you.”

            “I love you,” Barry said, and Len’s heart stopped, didn’t start again for so long that when his mind unfroze, when he processed it, his mouth was already forming the words, already forming the words he had been too afraid to say out loud for too long now.

            “I love you too.”

            And God was that just about the best feeling in the world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

            They went back to Len’s apartment afterwards.  Barry was staying there frequently.  He didn’t really like sleeping alone.  The nightmares still bothered him on occasion, although not nearly as often as they used to.  Usually it was the night after a nightmare that Barry would stay at Len’s place, when he was keyed up, afraid to sleep for fear of another nightmare.  Len helped to calm him down, and the knowledge that he’d be there if he had another one, if he woke up in the middle of the night panicked, trembling and yelling that Len would be right beside him, immediately, to help him to calm down made it easier for him to go to bed in the first place.  But when it wasn’t the nightmares, Barry just had a bad habit of falling asleep on Len’s couch, and the run back home when Len woke him up was just annoying.

            So he stayed there a lot.  It was easy when he could run home to grab clothes or work stuff or whatever else he needed in a seconds.  He still liked living with Joe – he wasn’t ready to move out.  Not only did that seem way too fast to Barry, but he liked having his own space too, liked being able to decide where he wanted to be, liked being able to have his space when he needed it.  But since Joe was still not Len’s biggest fan, they spent most of their time at Len’s place.

            So they went back there.  Len drove.  He insisted on driving.  Barry couldn’t really carry him long distances anyway – he weighed more than Barry did – so it was fine.  He liked the motorcycle – liked riding it, liked the feeling – not as good as running, but the fact that he didn’t have to exert himself or even move for him to feel the wind whip by them made up for it.  He liked hanging onto Len too.  Liked wrapping his arms around him, chest pressed to his back, right there, right next to him, alone in the middle of the city as the wind blocked out everyone else.

            When they stumbled through the door, they were already kissing.  Len pressed the key into the door because it apparently freaked him out when Barry phased them through objects (in Len’s defense, Barry probably should have mentioned he could even do that before the first time he phased them through a door).  He pushed it open, closed it again, and then Barry was wrapping his arms around Len’s neck, kissing his jaw, down to his neck.

            Len gasped.  Barry bit him lightly.  It was a challenge, to make Len make any noise at all, to elicit anything surprised from him, and Barry relished every win.

            But Len found his mouth again, and then he was the one to move down, to suck hickies against his skin.  They’d heal in minutes but Len only seemed to take that as a challenge too.  He’d already destroyed Barry’s neck down to his collarbone a half dozen times over – all healed before he went out again.  When he got really going it was just this side of painful, the sensation so rough and intense it had Barry panting.  He enjoyed it, definitely liked the sensation, but it was overwhelming sometimes.

            “L-Len,” he said, as Len bit at his neck, hard – much harder than Barry had at Len.  It didn’t draw blood – Len never drew blood, wasn’t actually trying to hurt him, but Barry could feel the teeth in it, and it made him shiver.  But Len paused.

            He looked up.  His face was flushed, a look which Barry didn’t think he’d ever get used to, ever tire of seeing, and his lips were wet.  “Too much?” he asked.

            Barry shook his head.  Len grinned at him, a grin which sent a mix of arousal and that off-white fear he was getting so used to.  The apprehension which was good, not bad, that had really scared him at first but didn’t anymore.  It was the nerves in his stomach which he had learned could be good too – could so easily turn to excitement instead of panic.  He wasn’t afraid, but he did feel the anticipation, the excitement, a burst of it every time Len looked at him with that grin.

            Len kissed him on the mouth again, one hard, quick kiss and then he was sucking over the bite mark he’d just left and Barry gasped.

            It felt _good_ , it felt really good.  Barry wanted more.  His arms came over Len’s shoulders and grabbed at his shirt and tugged.  Len moved back long enough for Barry to get rid of it.  His fingers ran over Len’s shoulders then, the skin of his back.  His fingers splayed out, nails digging in just a little, not scratching, but digging, like he could get closer, get more of him in his hands.  He pressed himself closer to Len, moved so his chest was right up against him.

            Len was moving them over to the couch.  Barry hadn’t even really noticed his feet were moving, but then Len pressed on his shoulders and he was collapsing onto the couch.  Len planted a knee between Barry’s legs and leaned down, bracing his arms against the couch so he wouldn’t crush him.  He kissed along Barry’s collarbone until his shirt was getting in the way and then, impatient, he moved away and got Barry out of it.  His sucking and kissing moved down, onto his chest, and Barry felt a hand on his chest even as he pressed his own around to Len’s sides.  Len’s thumb brushed his nipple and Barry shuddered.  Len hadn’t done it on purpose, was just spreading his fingers, but after seeing the reaction he did it again.  Then he started moving his thumb in slow circles, brushing continuously over it.

            Barry gasped, shuddered again.  He pulled away.  It was sensitive enough to almost hurt, the way Len was rolling it, and his first instinct was to tell him to stop, but he wasn’t sure he actually wanted Len to stop.  Len’s hand followed him anyway, kept going, and Barry whimpered.  Len stopped kissing him long enough to smile down at him.

            “You like that?” he said.

            Barry took in a sharp breath as Len pinched his nipple instead.  “Ah – I – it – too much.”

            Len stopped, the smile gone.  “Too much?”

            “No,” Barry said, leaning back into his hand, grabbing Len’s hand with his own to move it back onto his chest.  “Just – sensitive – too much, but not – I like it.”

            Len frowned at him, but there was a glint in his eyes now.  “Yeah?”  He rolled his nipple between his fingers again.

            “Ah-,” Barry pushed Len’s hand away.  It was only gone for a second before Barry was pulling it back.  Len smoothed his fingers over it instead, rubbing.  Barry relaxed into it only for Len to pinch his nipple again.

            Len caught on.  It was a back and forth.  Barry would pull away then move back again, would tremble and gasp and Len would toy with him.  He pinched and rolled and flicked and then he leaned down and sucked.  It felt like too much, his body wanted to pull away, but it felt good too.  There was a rough, chafing feel to it, even though it was just Len’s fingers, oversensitivity that had Barry pulling away and then pressing back a second later.  It felt good, but it was raw.

            “OK, OK, enough,” Barry finally said, when Len had tortured both his nipples to the point where they were aching.  Len moved off him with a smirk.  Barry kissed him.

            Then Barry leaned up, went for Len’s collarbone, planned to put some marks there to match his own, and Len’s wouldn’t disappear in a few minutes either.  Then Len moved down, over to almost the back of Barry’s neck, and his body moved forward too.  His chest pressed against Barry, and then Barry felt Len’s cock, hard, against the top of his thigh, almost his hip.  He was hard too, had been for a while, but he had been ignoring it.  Len moved again, and his leg brushed against Barry’s cock, gave just the ghost of friction, fabric pressed up against him.  Barry shuddered, Len moved, adjusting himself, trying to get a better angle to attack Barry’s neck from, and his legs shifted, and they brushed against Barry again, and the weight came more firmly onto Barry’s chest as Len leaned down more, and then suddenly Barry was frozen.

            Len felt him go stiff, felt the body under him go completely still, and then he was falling.

            He landed roughly on his side on the floor, disoriented, the jarring impact running up through his limbs.  He groaned, sat up, and blinked for a second.  He looked around.

            “Barry?”

            He heard him first, heard heavy, fast breathing, and turned to find him in the corner of the room, sitting on the floor, shaking.

            “Barry,” Len said, alarmed, going to run over, then he stopped himself, and walked instead.  He stopped a few feet away from him and crouched down, alarm and worry shooting through him.  “Are you OK?” he asked.  He couldn’t stop the words from coming out fast, his mind still racing, trying to figure out what happened.  “Did I do something?” he asked.  “Are you alright, Scarlet, what happened?”  His mind raced.  He had just been kissing him – it was intense, but they had kissed plenty of times like that before, and the touching was new but he had seemed fine, had seemed to like it, had told him when he wanted to stop and Len had.  He had felt him against him, had felt him through his jeans, but he hadn’t touched him.  Maybe it was still too much, maybe it was –

            “I-I’m fine,” Barry stuttered.  “I – sorry, I – I just – I don’t know.”

            “It’s OK,” Len said.  He looked at him, confused.  “Are you… did I do something Scarlet?”

            “No – no it was – it was just - I don’t know, it – under you, and, I don’t know, it must have – it must have just all hit me at once – you – being under you, like I was held down, I – I don’t know, I just – I just panicked.”

            “Can I touch you?” Len asked.

            Barry paused, looked away, and shook his head just the slightest bit.

            It alarmed him.  Usually Barry went looking for contact.

            “OK,” Len said, “I won’t.  I won’t, it’s OK.  Am I OK right here?  Do you want me to go farther away?”

            “No,” Barry said, “No, you – you’re fine.”

            “I’m sorry I scared you,” Len said, “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to do that, Scarlet, I’m sorry.  I won’t lean over you like that again.”

            “No, I – I liked it,” Barry said, his head perking up, but then his eyes settled on the ground again.  “I… at first, I mean… I liked it, until… then.”

            “OK,” Len said, frowning.  “I’ll be more careful,” he said.  Then he paused.  “Are you sure I didn’t do anything else?  Was that… was that too much?”

            Barry shook his head.  “No, I – I liked that.”

            “Are you sure,” Len said, “when I was touching you – you said it was too much –”

            “No,” Barry said, and his voice sounded firm, “no, I liked that.  I – it was – it wasn’t too much like that, I didn’t want to stop – it just – I felt oversensitive, and it – it was weird – intense – but I liked it.”

            “OK,” Len said, not convinced.  “Just… if I ever do something you don’t like, Barry…”

            “I’d tell you,” Barry said quickly.  “You didn’t, I – I just – I don’t know, Len.  I don’t – I don’t know.  I just panicked.  I felt fine before that.  I just – it must have just been you on top of me like that, leaning on me like that.”

            “OK,” Len said. 

            He was still frowning.  He knew that Barry’s episodes – the panic attacks – could be triggered by different things – could be almost random in nature at times, but this seemed odd.  Barry didn’t like being held down, but he had never reacted badly to Len holding him when they weren’t in a medical setting.

            “Can I make you some hot chocolate?” he asked.

            Barry nodded.  “Please.”

            Len got up carefully, and Barry followed.  He walked back over to the couch and sat down while Len went back to the kitchen.  He gave Barry some space, stayed in there while the water heated.  He came back with two mugs and set them down.

            “OK if I sit here?” Len asked, gesturing to the couch.  Barry nodded.  Len sat down, and Barry hesitantly moved over to him.  “If you need some space, that’s OK,” Len said.

            But Barry shook his head.  He took a deep breath and leaned against Len’s side.  After a second he relaxed, letting out the breath and melting back against Len.  Len put his arm around him, and when that didn’t elicit so much as a twitch he relaxed as well.

            “OK now?” Len asked.

            “OK now.” Barry said.


	2. Hand Me The Shampoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, meant to get this out earlier, but I kept thinking it was too short and was trying to figure out the next part. I decided it's probably best on it's own, and hopefully I'll have the next chapter out in a few days or so (although I am terribly unreliable with updating, I will admit). Anyway, as always, let me know what you guys think :)

            There were good days, and there were bad days, and well, this was definitely not a good day.

            Barry felt like shit.  The worst part was he wasn’t entirely sure why he felt like shit.  His therapist said he had a tendency to go numb, to shut down and block things out when he was feeling depressed, and Barry could feel himself doing it now.  She said it was bad for him, that he blocked himself off from help too when he did that, but didn’t she realize just how painful it could be if he didn’t shut down from it?

            He just didn’t feel good.  He just wanted to go home, wanted to have Len come over, wanted to sit on the couch and curl up in a ball and never come out.  It had just been a rough day – lots of cases, not a lot of leads, and he had ran by a blood drive on the way to work, and even seeing it, even though he wasn’t doing it, couldn’t do it with his speedster blood, it was still just anxiety-provoking enough to make him consciously nervous.  He was always a little bit anxious now, but he could usually tune it out, could forget about it while he worked.  Now he was jittery, and the feeling grated.

            He sat at his desk and closed his eyes.  Maybe he had a nightmare he didn’t remember.  Sometimes that happened.  He’d wake up feeling anxious, go through his day, mention it to Len that night, and Len would tell him he was moving around and talking in his sleep again.  Len didn’t usually wake him up, not unless he started getting violent in his sleep.  It was usually better to just let him sleep through it if he could – that way he didn’t remember when he woke up, and he could actually get some rest.

            He hadn’t slept at Len’s the other night, so he wouldn’t know.  He wasn’t really anxious though, just felt a little anxious.  It was really the depressed feeling again, which Barry usually found a lot harder to deal with than the anxiety.  He had learned so many ways to calm down, so many breathing techniques and little things to help him relax, but when he started feeling depressed he not only didn’t have as many tools to work with, he felt like there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it.

            He tried to tell himself it was just the anxiety, wanted to believe it was just the anxiety as he tried once again to fill out the paperwork in front of him.  He was having trouble concentrating, but his thoughts weren’t spiraling, they were doing the opposite – were sinking like mud.

            Barry dropped his forehead onto the table of the desk.  He just wanted to go sleep.  He felt so tired – not sleepy, but bone-weary, like he just needed to not move for a while.  He was planning on going to Len’s that night, but maybe he shouldn’t.  Maybe it be better to just stay in his room at home where he could lie down.  Len would want to talk.  He didn’t want to talk.

            It was getting worse.  Barry could tell, the numb feeling creeping up on him.  He should call Iris now, should call Iris or Len or Caitlin or Cisco – someone.  Tell them how he was feeling, or at least try to interact.  Sometimes he could head it off if he just got out of his own head, his own thoughts.  Sometimes talking to someone about anything – sports, the news, cases, anything – was all it took.  It gave him a break, forced him to speed up that numb, shut down brain of his and it broke up his thoughts long enough for him to clear his head.

            But that would require calling.  Or walking downstairs.  And talking.  And Barry was just so tired.

            So he didn’t call anyone and he didn’t talk to anyone and he worked his way painstakingly through the rest of the paperwork.  And then he went home and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to go to Len’s or not.  Once he was lying down in bed he really didn’t want to move, but Joe was home and he could only hide in his room so long before Joe would notice and ask, and if he had to talk he’d rather talk with Len then Joe right now.  At least if he went to Len’s it would mean he could get some cuddling out of it.

            He texted him.  Len said he was out but he’d be back shortly and to feel free to let himself in.  So Barry sped over and phased through the door to wait on Len’s couch. 

            Len got back maybe twenty minutes later.  Barry looked up as he walked into the room.  Len smiled, and something in Barry’s chest untightened a fraction more.  Len reached out and touched Barry’s face.

            “How are you?” he asked.

            “OK,” Barry said, the answer automatic, but then he stopped for a moment.  “Well – no, not great, I – I don’t feel great.”

            Len just nodded.  “Tea?”

            Barry nodded, and Len disappeared again.  “Have you eaten?” he asked.

            Barry started.  “No,” he said, hadn’t even realized.  “Not – shit, I skipped lunch.”

            Len turned to give him a hard look from the kitchen.  “You need to take care of yourself, Barry.  I bet you ran here too, didn’t you?”

            Barry gave him a sheepish smile.  “I didn’t realize.  I just forgot.”

            “You can’t forget to eat,” Len said, “do I need to call you?  Every day at lunch?  Because I will.”

            Barry crossed his arms in front of him.  “I’m not five, Len.  I just forgot today – I was busy, and… I just wasn’t feeling great.  I don’t… you know I don’t get hungry when I’m…”

            Len nodded.  “When you’re upset.  I know.  That’s not an excuse.  You still have to eat, especially if you’re going to run.”  He brought over two of Cisco’s calorie bars.  He had a box of them in the cabinets for when Barry stayed over.  “Here.  Appetizer.”

            Barry made a face, but took them.  They really just weren’t the best tasting, and he was really sick of them.  Cisco had also made a calorie powder, which was pretty much tasteless and easy to put in just about anything, and he very much preferred that, but the bars were convenient if he was in a hurry – or if Len was practically force feeding him because he forgot to eat…again.

            Len came back with tea a couple minutes later, and Barry moved into the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar there, watching while Len started to cook pasta.

            “How was work?” Len asked.

            Barry shrugged.  Even that felt like a huge amount of effort, just that single movement.  The thought of actually talking suddenly seemed impossible.

            He could feel himself slowing down.  Caitlin told him depression could do that – could actually slow down someone’s systems and their thoughts, and with his speed it was much more noticeable to him, or at least he thought it was.  He had never really dealt with depression in this sense before he had his powers, at least not since he was young – right after his mother was killed.  He felt slow now, felt really slow, which made him feel worse, because he knew it could affect his speed, and if he needed to save someone, one moment could be the difference between life or death, literally.

            “Barry,” Len said, and Barry suddenly looked up, to find Len looking right at him, leaning forward a little, frowning.  “You there?  You zoned out for a second.”

            “Sorry,” Barry mumbled.  He ran a hand through his hair, ducking his head and looking at the table for a minute.

            Len moved closer.  “What’s going on, Scarlet?” he said, his voice soft, eyes searching.

            Barry shook his head.  “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he said, his voice quiet too.

            “Did something happen?” Len asked.

            Barry shook his head.  Nothing really had happened.  He’d had a lot of work, had spilled coffee that morning, had just… he didn’t know.  Just fallen into another spiral.  Had just felt a little bad and then it had gotten worse and worse somehow.  He didn’t even really know why – just knew that now he felt awful.        

            “Did you get hurt?” Len asked.

            Barry sighed, shook his head again.  He saw Len watching him, eyes flicking over him, to see if he was lying, looking for his tells (Len still wouldn’t tell him what they were and Barry didn’t know, but Len almost always knew when he was lying).

            “You sure?” Len said.

            “I didn’t get hurt,” Barry said, his voice edged, just a little.  But he couldn’t hold onto the irritation.  He was just so tired.

            “OK,” Len said.  He stirred the pasta some more.

            Barry nibbled on the first of the two calorie bars.  It felt like ash and gravel in his mouth and he just wanted to spit it out.

            “You’re blood sugar is probably low,” Len said, “it’ll help for you to eat.”  When Barry didn’t look up, and didn’t take another bite, he added, “you’ll probably feel better after you eat some more.”

            But Barry didn’t want anything to eat.  He wasn’t hungry.  He just wanted to go to bed.  He didn’t really want to be alone, but he didn’t want Len nagging him either.  And he knew Len was trying to help, but Barry didn’t feel like being helped.  He wasn’t sure what he felt like.  Everything was slow and miserable and he felt awful, but he didn’t actually know what would make it better, just that he wanted it to stop.

            By the time the pasta was finished, he’d only eaten half the first calorie bar.  Len left it alone, took the uneaten one back and mixed in calorie powder to the sauce on Barry’s pasta.  Barry ate a few bites of that, but he wasn’t hungry, and this, while normally a dish he liked, seemed tasteless as well.

            “Why don’t you have a little more,” Len said when he stopped eating, only half the plate gone.  “I know you’re not hungry, but it’ll make you feel better, Scarlet.”

            So Barry tried to eat some more, because he did so much want to feel better, but it didn’t seem to do anything for his mood.  He finished the plate though, if for nothing else but that Len kept giving him that encouraging look.

            When they finished Barry wandered into Len’s bedroom and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.  He kept some of his clothes there.  He changed slowly, shirt first, then pants, never taking all his clothes off at once.  Len wandered into the room as he put the clothes he’d worn there in a hamper.

            “Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Len said.

.           “I don’t feel good,” Barry said, the response almost automatic.  He laid down on the bed and closed his eyes.  He just felt tired, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep.  It was only around six. 

            “It’s not good for you to just lie there, Barry,” Len said, walking closer to the bed.  “You know that.”

            He did, but he didn’t really care right then.  He just wanted to lie down and try to sleep, try not to think for a while. 

            “Why don’t you at least let me put on a movie,” Len said, “you can lie down on the couch.”

            “I don’t want to,” Barry said, “I want to stay here.”

             Len was quiet for a minute.  “You can come out to the living room and watch a movie with me, or we can talk in here.  But if you stay here, you’re talking to me.”

            Barry closed his eyes.  “I don’t want to talk,” he mumbled.

            “Then come out and watch a movie.”

            “No.”

            Len was silent for another long moment.  When Barry looked over at him, he had his hands in his pockets, standing on the other side of the bed, like he was waiting for Barry to look at him before he spoke.  His expression was calm, so carefully constructed and calm, but Barry could see the lines of concern there underneath it. 

            “I don’t want to watch you get stuck in your head right now, Scarlet,” Len said.

            Barry looked away again, staring at the ceiling instead.  “I don’t have anything to talk about,” he said, his voice thin and quiet.  “I’m just not having a great day.  I just don’t feel good.  I don’t want to move, Len.”

            Len walked around the bed.  His eyes searched Barry’s for a moment, and then he placed a hand over his forehead, smoothed it back over his hair.  “You’re feeling slow?”

            Barry nodded.

            “I really think if you ate some more you’d feel better,” Len said.

            “It’s not my blood sugar, Len,” Barry said.

            “It can’t help though,” Len said, “I’d say go for a run, to try to get rid of that slow feeling, but you haven’t eaten enough.  You shouldn’t be running.”

            “It didn’t help anyway,” Barry said, “I ran here, remember?”

            Len sighed.  “Yes,” he said.  “Why don’t you take a bath?”

            Barry blinked.  “A bath?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why?”

            “It’ll be relaxing.  Might make you feel better.”

            “I’m not anxious.”

            “I know.  It might still help.”

            “Is this your way of getting me naked?”

            Len laughed and Barry smiled, and it made something in Len’s chest unloosen again just a fraction.

            “Believe it or not that actually wasn’t the goal,” Len said, “but I could wash your hair.”

            “Wash my hair,” Barry repeated.

            “Yes.”

            “Why?”

            “Because it would feel good,” Len said, “maybe that’s what you need.  Someone to take care of you.  Just for a few hours.”

            “You could just sit with me,” Barry mumbled.

            “Not locking you in your own head, remember, Barry?” Len said.  “Do you want to take a bath?”

            Barry paused.  Len wasn’t going to press if he said no.  He knew Barry still didn’t like to get fully undressed when he was scared, but he wasn’t really scared now, just not feeling good.  Len had also never really seen Barry fully naked, and he didn’t know how Barry would feel about it now, if he would want Len with him or not, if he wouldn’t want to be alone in the bathroom, if he would care if Len saw him or not.

            “You’re not going to leave me alone here?” Barry said.

            Len just smiled at him.

            Barry sighed.  “OK,” he said, “yeah, I’ll try a bath.”

            Len counted that as a victory, and went to get the water running.  He set it hot – as hot as it went – it would cool by the time it was filled, and Barry liked things warm.

            When it was filled he told Barry, and Barry went into the bathroom.  Len waited outside, and Barry closed the door most of the way, but left a crack open.  Len heard him get undressed and into the water.  He opened his mouth to yell in that he would be right outside if Barry needed anything, but Barry spoke first.

            “I thought you said you were going to wash my hair?”

            It came out teasing, and Len smiled and walked in.  He found the shower curtain closed, all except about a six inch window where Barry’s head was.  After fishing around in the bathroom closet for a minute for a cup, he knelt down on the ground beside the tub.

            “Hand me the shampoo,” he said.

            Len washed his hair slowly, working his fingers into Barry’s hair, into his scalp, with the shampoo.  Barry closed his eyes and leaned back and Len could see the tension running out of him.  And Barry did find himself relaxing, relaxing when he hadn’t realized he needed to relax.  He didn’t feel anxious then – he knew that at other times he would never be able to do this – if he had gotten hurt, or had a procedure, or even just had a bad day with the anxiety, he wouldn’t have been able to be naked in a bath for this long never mind have Len right next to him while he was.

            But he didn’t feel nervous.  It was about the only up-side to the depression – when he was really depressed, when he was feeling really slowed down, he did actually become less anxious.  His therapist said it was partly a defense mechanism – he became depressed because his body found it easier to deal with then the constant vigilance and anxiety that racked him at times – not that that was the sole or even primary reason, but it was most likely a factor.

            He let Len wash his hair, and his hands on his scalp felt good – he always liked having people touch his hair, and this – the more Barry relaxed and focused on it the more he realized it did feel good, felt really good.  Len used the cup he had found to gently rinse the shampoo from his hair when he was done, before applying conditioner and doing the same thing.

            “Thank you,” Barry said, “that – it does feel nice.”

            Len let out a short, quiet laugh.  “Yeah, I noticed.”

            Barry’s face heated up a bit, but not in a wholly unpleasant manner.  He opened his eyes.

            “Do you want to get out?” Len asked, “or do you want to stay there for a while?”

            “I think I’ll get out,” Barry said.  “Just give me a minute to finish washing?”

            Len nodded, and stood, “I’ll be right in the bedroom,” he said, and then walked out.  He closed the door like he had found it, with a crack open, and heard Barry moving in the water, before the curtain rings clinging on the metal rod as Barry got out.  The tub started to drain, and Len waited while Barry dried off and got dressed.  When Barry got out he was in clean clothes, hair damp and fluffed up from the towel, and looking better than when he went in.

            He walked out of the bathroom and went straight up to Len, chin resting on his shoulder, wrapping his arms around him.  Len reciprocated, running one hand steadily over his back.

            “Feeling any better?”

            He felt Barry nod.

            “Wanna watch that movie now?”

            “I’m not really feeling like a movie,” Barry said.

            Len raised an eyebrow.  “Want to talk?”

            Barry shook his head.

            Len crossed his arms in front of him.  “You’re not just sitting here,” he said, “so what do you want to do then?  Read a book?  Go online?  We can just sit in bed if you want, relax, but you need to be doing something.”

            Barry shrugged, opened his mouth, but then Len’s phone went off.  Barry closed it again as Len picked up his phone, took a look at the caller ID.

            “It’s Mick,” Len said, “I’ll be right back.”  He walked out of the room.

            Barry sat down on the bed, pushed the covers back and then brought them up to his waist, sitting up against the headboard.  He heard a few bits and phrases from Len in the other room.

            “I know, Mick… I’ll… yeah… reschedule… I will, Mick… fine.”  Len came back in a minute later, an expression on his face that Barry had come to recognize meant he was making it purposefully calm.

            Barry frowned.  “Everything OK?”

            “Everything is great,” Len said, his voice too strained.  Despite his words earlier, he got under the blankets as well.  He fiddled with his phone for a second, and then Barry watched as his eyes glazed, and he stared at a spot across the room.  Barry frowned.  He usually only got that look when he was thinking, or more specifically planning.

            “That wasn’t a call about a heist your planning to pull, was it?” Barry asked, smiling.

            “No.”

            The smile faded.  Len’s answer was clipped, no humor.  Barry frowned.

            “Len,” he said.

            Len grimaced.  “I’m going to read,” he said, bursting into motion all of a sudden, reaching into the nightstand by the bed for a book, “you want the laptop?”

            “I change my mind,” Barry said, “I want to talk.  What’s wrong?”

            “You know, when I asked if you wanted to talk, I meant about you.”

            “Well, that’s too bad.  What’s going on?”

            Len grimaced again.  He looked at the blankets for a moment, obviously thinking again, and then looked up slowly.

            “You remember when I said I don’t particularly like dentists?”

            Barry nodded.

            Len’s jaw tightened.  “I may have been rescheduling a cleaning for a couple of weeks… which may have turned into a couple of months.”

            “Len,” Barry said, giving him a look.

            “I never said it was a good idea,” Len said.  “Anyway, Mick has an amazing capacity to remember annoying information, like the fact that I’ve been putting it off, and he went and scheduled one for me.”  He paused.  “Which I have currently and fairly unsuccessfully been trying to get out of.”

            “It’s just a cleaning,” Barry said, and Len shot him a look.  Barry backtracked.  “I mean, there’s no Novocain,” he said.

            “Not afraid of shots,” Len said, his voice clipped.

            “Well, there’s no drills either,” Barry said, “they just clean them.  They use a toothbrush, and there’s the fluoride, and I know they poke a bit at your teeth, but nothing hurts, and –”

            “Barry,” Len said, his jaw clenched, “Stop talking.”

            Barry stopped talking.  He watched as Len stared at the wall across from them and forced his breathing to even, watched as Len’s chest rose and fell too fast, too hard.

            “The talking about it,” Barry said softly after a second.  “that makes you nervous?”

            Len nodded, one jerk of his head, still staring at the wall across from them.

            “I’m sorry,” Barry said, “I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

            Len shook his head.  “It’s fine,” he said.

            Barry took Len’s hand, and just held it, and waited until Len relaxed again.  It took him a bit, a while of breathing deeply, of telling himself over and over again in his head that he was fine, that he was home, that he was with Barry and fine and nothing was wrong, but he did, he relaxed again. 

            “When is your appointment?” Barry asked, when it was obvious he had calmed down.

            Len sighed.  “Tuesday,” he said.

            “I’ll go with you,” Barry said.

            Len gave him an uncertain look.

            “You said I could go with you,” Barry said.

            “I said I’d think about it,” Len said.

            “Well, did you think about it?”

            “Yes.”

            “And?”

            Len studied him.  “You won’t freak out?  Won’t get nervous, being there?  They might wear white coats, and there’ll be sterile equipment, like medical equipment.  Bright lights, and the chairs.”

            “I’ll be fine,” Barry said.

            Len kept looking at him.  “Barry,” he said, “I really, really don’t do well when the people I’m with – the people I trust, are nervous too.  Mick can take me, if you can’t be there, and that’s fine.  I can just go with Mick.  If you get nervous, I’ll need you to leave.”

            “Do you want me to be there?” Barry said.

            Len looked at him for a few seconds.  “Yes,” he said, his voice quiet.  “Yes, if you’re calm, I’d like you to be there.”

            “Then I’ll be there,” he said.

            “Barry –”

            “I don’t think I’ll get nervous,” Barry said, “but if I do, I’ll leave.”

            Len let out a long sigh.  “OK,” he said, “OK… you can come.”

            Barry grinned.


	3. All the Really Bad Stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. Get ready guys, Barry's going to actually take a step forward with therapy.  
> Also, enter Len's guilt complex.  
> Oh, and kissing.
> 
> WARNING: in case you missed THE GIANT LIST OF WARNINGS in the first chapter and the bolded warning tag on the fic itself, there IS PAST NON-CON in this fic. BE ADVISED. I'm not going to post more warnings, because it will be ongoing. Consider this a warning for the rest of the fic. It's only going to get worse, trust me. (Not that Barry will ultimately get worse, I like happy endings, just the non-con stuff will get worse from here)
> 
> OK bye, enjoy :)

            Barry’s eyes were drifting over to the window.  The office building overlooked a city block, and he could see people pretty clearly; they weren’t that high up.  He watched one man with a dog going down the street.  He couldn’t tell what kind it was from that far away, but he could see the dogs tail wagging relentlessly.

            “What do you think about that, Barry?”

            Barry’s eyes jerked back over to Dr. Davidson, who was now looking at him intently, one eyebrow raised.

            “Um, sorry, what was the question?”

            She sighed.  “How would you feel about starting desensitization therapy, now that you’ve been doing better for a while?  I really think you could benefit a lot from it, and Len and I were discussing how you could possibly try it out at home first, wherever you’re most comfortable.”

            “I don’t think I’m ready for that,” Barry said, shifting in his seat.  They had dropped the subject for a while, after he had insisted he wasn’t ready to do it a while ago.  He looked over at Len, who was eyeing him now, a neutral, thoughtful expression on his face.

            “You’ve made a lot of progress, Barry,” Dr. Davidson said, “and although I think your depression and day to day anxiety will probably remain a factor for some time, which we will continue to work on, the next step really is to make you more comfortable around some of the triggering stimuli that you encounter on a regular basis.”

            Barry looked away, back out the window again.  The man with the dog was gone, and his eye was caught by a girl with a bright red balloon, skipping next to who was presumably her mother.

            “Barry,” Len said, his voice quiet, “why do you think you’re not ready?”

            Barry forced himself to look away from the window, glancing up at Len and his therapist again. They were both looking at him, waiting.  He fidgeted.  Usually Len didn’t talk much during his sessions – he kept mostly silent, and was more there as support.  Barry still came twice a week, once with Len, once without, and he knew why his therapist suggested it, but he still liked it better when Len came.

            “I don’t know,” he said, “I just don’t.”

            “I think,” Dr. Davidson said carefully, “that you’re focusing on all the problems you still have, when you say you aren’t ready.  And I really want you to think about all the progress you’ve made too – all the coping strategies you’ve learned, how much better you deal with anxiety-provoking stimuli now, how much more you’ve been able to open up and talk about what you’re feeling and what you need.”

            Barry still looked down, at his lap.  “I don’t really do much better with the medical stuff, though,” he said, his words half mumbled, “I still… I’m really not much better with that.”

            “That’s not true,” Len said, and Barry turned to him again.  He was frowning.  “Barry, when I first started going with you to Star, you still lied about half your injuries – you were willing to wind up half dead if it meant you didn’t have to be checked out.” 

            Barry winced.  “I still don’t… I’m still not really… cooperative.”

            Len kept frowning at him.  “You tell us when you’re injured.”

            “Most of the time,” Barry mumbled.

            “Well, it’s a lot more of the time then it used to be,” he said, “and don’t tell me you haven’t gotten astronomically better with the smaller stuff – the stuff we can plan for.”

            “You’re exaggerating,” Barry mumbled.

            “I’m really not,” Len said.  The frown was back in place.  “You are doing so much better, Scarlet,” he said, his voice softer now, “does it really feel like you haven’t?”

            Barry shrugged.  “Sometimes.  I don’t know, it… I still… the big things, they’re… they’re not any easier.”  He shivered, drawing his arms around himself.  He didn’t want to think about it, about the broken bones and the stitches and the surgeries.

            “If it’s very painful, Barry,” Dr. Davidson said, “then chances are it’s never going to be one of your favorite things.  It may stay an anxiety-provoking experience for the rest of your life, but I’d be surprised if it didn’t elicit some anxiety from you before your abduction as well.”

            Barry grimaced.  “Not like this,” he said, “not like now.”

            “Either way,” Dr. Davidson said, “we can’t tackle that before tackling the small stuff.  You probably won’t get much better with painful procedures, Barry, until we can get you comfortable with the non-painful procedures.”

            Barry shook his head.  He was fidgeting again, hands restless.  Len suddenly put a hand on his knee.

            “Hey,” Len said, and Barry looked up at him.  “Take a deep breath,” he said.

            Barry did, and Len smoothed his hand over his knee and then leaned back again.

            “Do you need a break, Barry?” Dr. Davidson asked.

            Barry shook his head.  Even just talking about it, even though neither of them were even saying the names of any procedures, Barry got anxious.  He let out a huff.  This was why he couldn’t do it – he couldn’t even talk about it without getting nervous, how was he supposed to willingly confront these things?

            “What are you thinking, Barry?” Dr. Davidson asked. 

            He shook his head.  “I just – I don’t want to do it,” he said.  “I don’t… I wouldn’t even know where to start,” he mumbled.

            “You’d start with whatever seemed easiest,” she said, “and you’d take that, and at first you’d just practice thinking about it.”

            “But I can’t even do that,” he said, shaking his head.  “I – it’s too much, I can’t – I can’t _concentrate_ on it, not – I spend the whole time when anything has to actually be done trying _not_ to think about it.”

            “You would only think about it for as long as you were comfortable,” she said, “you could start with just five seconds, Barry, if that’s all you could handle.”

            Barry shook his head.  “But it won’t work, I can’t just – can’t just shut it off after five seconds – I know you always say that it shouldn’t ever cause a panic attack because you control it, you can stop, but I – I can’t stop, it won’t stop – I’ll start, and it’ll get out of control, and I’ll panic, and I can’t do that – I can’t –”

            He stopped abruptly, sucking in a breath.  He could feel tears stinging in his eyes and he blinked furiously, fists clenching.  He looked back down at the floor, at his shoes.  Len’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, a comforting weight that Barry focused on as he forced himself to breathe.

            “I see,” Dr. Davidson said.  Barry glanced up and she was looking at him thoughtfully, before glancing over at the clock.  “Our time is almost up for today, but I’m going to give you some homework.”

            Barry watched as she pulled out a packet from her desk, and handed it over to him.  He looked at it, read the title “Hierarchy of Fears” and felt a little sick.  He looked back up at her.

            “With Len,” she said, “or your family, I want you to write out a hierarchy of fears.  You put the most panic-inducing items at the top, and work your way down to the least anxiety-provoking.  I know you think you’re not ready, and you have to be one hundred percent on board before we would start, but I want you to do this for next Friday.  We’ll talk about it a little, and if you still don’t feel ready we’ll just put it away for later, OK?  This isn’t a commitment, just an exercise.  But when you get down to the bottom of the list, I want you to think really, really small, OK?  Think about things that only make you a little anxious – don’t end it with getting an injection, or even seeing a syringe.  Where would being around a medical bed be on your list?  Or seeing a stethoscope?  What if there was a doctor’s office on TV?  Or standing outside a hospital – not going in, just standing outside it?  I want you to think as small as you can, OK?”

            Barry nodded, looking down at the packet.  The front page was text, and he looked to the next to see what he assumed was a sample hierarchy, for arachnophobia.

            “Read through that,” she said, “it just gives some examples of how one should be set up.  Don’t try to write it all out at once, though.  I know talking about it can be stressful, and make you anxious.  If you start getting too anxious writing it out, stop, and take a break.  If it seems too hard, start in the middle and work down instead – you can save the top part for later, when you’ve made some progress on the lower levels of the hierarchy.”

            “OK,” Barry said.  He didn’t really like the idea, but she said she’d put it away for later if he still didn’t feel ready, so hopefully after this they’d leave it alone again for a while.  They left, and Barry felt drained.  It happened a lot after his sessions, and it wasn’t really a bad feeling, but he was looking forward to laying down at Len’s.

 

 

 

 

 

            “Do you want to try starting?” Len asked, flipping through the packet as Barry browsed through Netflix.

            “No,” he said.

            Len looked up.  “It’s been two days,” he said, “you’re supposed to have this finished by Friday, and I don’t want you to try rushing it all the last minute – give yourself time so you don’t have to do it all at once.”

            Barry sighed.  “Fine,” he said, “but you have to write it down.”

            Len grumbled but got out a piece of paper and a pen anyway.  He grabbed a hardcover cookbook from a bookshelf in the corner of the room and used it to write on.  “OK,” he said, “what’s the worst thing you can think of?  Top of the pyramid, worst fear?”

            “Going back,” Barry said.

            “Well, you’re not going back,” Len said, “and I’m pretty sure that doesn’t count as part of the phobia anyway, because it’s completely rational to be afraid of that.”

            “Surgery, then,” Barry said, “surgery for an extended time, with no breaks, and being tied down, and without anyone there with me.”

            “That’s not going to happen either,” Len said, “you won’t ever be alone like that.  But we can put down surgery.”  Barry heard the scratch of the pen, and then Len was turning to him again.  “What next?”

            “I don’t know,” Barry said.  “Restraints.”

            Len frowned.  “Even the foam?”

            Barry shrugged.  “I guess… maybe the foam would be lower.  I don’t know, it’s… it’s worse when it’s my wrists, or my arms, when I’m completely held down.”

            “You won’t ever have to be completely held down,” Len said, “we didn’t even completely hold you down when Caitlin did surgery on your shoulder.”

            Barry winced.  “Well, I don’t know then… it’s still up there.  Maybe dislocations?”

            Len wrote it down.

            “Spinal taps… oh, breathing tubes, I – I… that’s probably worse than a dislocation.”

            Len paused.  “Why don’t we start with categories.  List all the really bad stuff, I’ll write it down, and we’ll sort out the exact order later.”

            “Can we take a break first,” Barry said.  He was already getting nervous, and the idea of racking his brain for all the extremely unpleasant, painful, terror-inducing procedures that had happened to him and could possibly happen again to him was really not something he wanted to do.

            “Sure,” Len said, “wanna watch a show first?”

            So they watched the show, and Barry had to be coaxed into it, but Len got him to list out all the things he categorized as, articulately, “really bad,” while throwing out anything that Barry would never actually have to do again.  Re-breaking bones, setting bones, breathing tubes, stitches, dislocations, spinal taps, knee injuries, being heavily restrained, being denied food or water, collapsed lungs, being blindfolded or otherwise not being able to see.  When Barry couldn’t think of anything else and Len didn’t have any suggestions they moved onto “bad but not terrible,” which generally consisted of the things that were not horribly painful but were still very anxiety-provoking.  IV’s, shots, the foam, medical equipment.  Len made a sub-category of “slightly less bad,” that had being examined, having cuts cleaned and bandaged, x-rays, MRI’s, not having enough water, the smell of disinfectant, having stitches taken out, having monitors hooked up to him.  By the time they got through all that, Barry was done.  They had taken some breaks – Len made dinner, and they stopped for a few minutes a couple of times, but after getting through the bigger stuff, Barry was done and Len was satisfied with the progress.

            “So Lisa called me yesterday,” Barry said casually after they finished and were just sitting on the couch.  Len looked sharply over at him.

            “Did she now?” he said.

            “She wants a family dinner night,” Barry said, and put up a hand, “her words, not mine.”

            “And what would family entail?” Len asked.

            “Iris, Joe, Mick, Caitlin, and Cisco,” he said, “and us, obviously.”

            “Joe and Mick, huh?” Len said, “that would be interesting.”

            Barry shrugged.  “They’ve been in the same room before without killing each other.”

            “Barely,” Len said.  “I don’t even know if Mick would agree to that.”

            Barry shrugged.  “She’s been at the lab more lately.”

            Len sighed.  “Let me guess, she happens to show up when Cisco’s there?”

            “Cisco’s kind of like, always there,” Barry said, “so yes.”

            “Fine,” Len said, another sigh.  “We’ll have ‘family dinner night’ but I am not being responsible for how Mick behaves, that’s on Lisa this time.”

            “I’ll try to get Joe to leave his gun at home,” Barry said.

            “Where does she plan on doing this little get together?”

            “She said something about the house on Bridgeport?”

            “Hm,” Len said, “it would have enough room, but we’d need to clean it up.  Also something my dear sister can do if she’s so hell bent on a dinner.”

            “I think she’ll be giving you a call soon,” Barry said, “she wanted me to tell you first, though.”

            “Of course she did,” Len said under his breath.  Barry grinned.  He flopped over so that his head lay in Len’s lap, one hand sprawled against his side, still grinning, staring up at him.

            “Because you looovvee me,” he said.

            “You’re a child.”  Len let his hand fall into Barry’s hair.

            “You love me anyway.  Admit it.”

            “I love you anyway,” Len said, his voice soft, fingers tangling in Barry’s hair.  Barry’s eyes shut, smile still on his face.

            It still felt new, the “I love you”s.  Len wanted to tell Barry that he didn’t ever have to ask for him to say it, the way the words fell off his tongue Len almost loved saying it more than hearing it – to be able to say that, to watch the smile that spread across Barry’s face at the words, to watch the content that just took over in his expression, and the ability to make that happen with a few words.  The feeling of giving all of himself to someone and having them accept it.  The stark truth of it.  He lied so much, had lied so much in his life.  The phrase poured out of him like a prayer.

            “Good,” Barry said, “because I love you too.”  His eyes opened again, the bright green there.

            It was these moments that had Len soaring, when Barry was just Barry.  It made him wonder if this was how he would have been all the time, if the abduction had never happened.  It made him feel guilty to wonder, but he still did.  He knew Barry still wasn’t perfect, that he still had his issues, his things to work through, like everyone did, but he still wondered what it would have been like to date Barry without also dating his depression and anxiety.  So much of his time was taken up comforting him, helping him calm down, helping him get out of his own head, and Len didn’t regret it, didn’t mind helping Barry – he wanted to help Barry, but he still wondered.  He hoped to find out some day.

            But it was also these moments that made him realize again and again that Barry was not his PTSD, a concept which Barry still seemed to be struggling with.  Len saw when it lifted, and what was left was just Barry, and Len fell in love with him a little more.

            Barry reached up, and touched the side of Len’s face.  Fingers on the side of his face and then down to his jaw.  Len leaned down and kissed him.  Barry pressed up against his mouth, pressing harder.  Len felt Barry’s elbows move up, onto his thighs, digging in, to give himself more leverage.  Len’s hand moved from Barry’s hair to the back of his shoulders, pulling him closer.

            The kissed, and Barry shifted at some point, so he was straddling Len, knees braced on either side of him.  Barry had his arms around Len’s neck and Len had one hand on Barry’s waist, the other to the back of his head.  Barry’s hands moved – his neck, shoulders, back.  Len felt them roam over him.  Barry was up on his knees slightly, forcing Len to lean back to tilt his head up to reach him.  Then Len gave that up to slip his mouth down, kiss along his jaw, and then his neck.  He bit and nipped at Barry’s skin, and felt the thrum of Barry’s heart under his skin.  He moved one hand over to it, over Barry’s heart, hearing it beat along, too fast, faster than any normal human.  His breathing was deep, heavy, and Len kept his hand pressed there, felt Barry’s forehead drop to the side of Len’s head as Len kept sucking at his neck, leaving marks that would heal again in an hour.

            Barry felt them, felt Len kissing and biting, and he felt warm, felt his heartrate going, felt that lightening right under his skin.  Len bit his neck, right under his ear, and Barry’s shudder at the feel dissolved into vibrating.

            Len groaned.  Len bit a bit harder in reflex, and a sound Barry didn’t know how to identify came out of his own mouth.  It felt good, it felt _too_ good, and Barry could feel his body going, could feel the lightening under his skin, the vibrations already forming again.  He leaned back.

            Len’s mouth was open.  His face was flushed.  Barry stared at him, up on his knees, looking down.  He settled carefully back on Len’s thighs, sitting towards his knees, a distinct space between them as he tried to catch his breath, but he found it was still speeding up instead of slowing down.  He was hard, and he was sitting carefully so as not to put pressure on it, and he hadn’t looked, but he was sure Len was too, but he looked at his face and not any lower.

            Len’s hands slid onto Barry’s shoulders.  “Everything alright?” he asked.

            Barry nodded.  His hands were trembling a little.  He chalked it up to the vibrations.  But he didn’t want to stop, really didn’t want to stop.

            He leaned forward again, slowly, let Len meet him half way so he didn’t have to bend forward too much, didn’t have to move his waist or legs.  He kissed slowly this time, passive, let Len take the lead.  Len’s hands slipped down his back to his waist, fingers going under the edge of Barry’s shirt, spreading over the skin of his lower back.  His hands moved up, under his shirt, across his back.

            “I want to take this off,” Len said, mouth against his ear.

            Barry smiled.  “You should take it off then,” he said back.

            Len took that as permission and pulled the back of his shirt up.  Barry slid his arms out and Len tossed the shirt to the side.  Then Len attacked his collarbone, biting and kissing over it like he had done to his neck.  One hand moved to his chest, but he kept his hand steady.

            Barry wished he’d move it, would touch him more, like he had before.  He moved a little, went up on his knees again, but Len’s hand stayed in place.  The thought of actually asking him for what he wanted was already making his face go red though, so he didn’t say anything.  He did force Len to stop sucking at his collarbone long enough to get another kiss.  He was leaning up again, kissing for a while, and then Len moved to touch his back again, sliding over his sides.  And then suddenly his hands were over his ass.  And Barry jolted forward.

            “Stop!”

            Len’s hands were gone and Barry was scrambling back.  His feet hit the floor and he lost his balance, tripping over himself and getting tangled on Len’s legs.  Len’s hand shot out automatically, grabbing Barry’s arm to steady him.  He let go almost immediately, and Barry grabbed both his wrists in his hands, pulling him forward, breathing shallow and fast, staring at him.

            “I’m sorry,” Len said, “I shouldn’t have done that.  I should have asked.  Are you OK?  I’m sorry, Barry, I didn’t think, I –”

            “It’s fine,” Barry said, “it’s –”  He was trembling.  He looked at his hands and saw them shaking where he was still gripping Len’s wrists.  He was still gripping them, why was he still gripping them?  But he didn’t let go.  He swallowed hard, trying to swallow the panic, could feel the adrenaline rush subsiding, but his breathing was still fast, still shaky.  “Sorry,” he said, “I – I’m sorry, I just –”

            “Hey,” Len said, the frown on his face only growing.  “It’s not your fault.  Don’t be sorry, it’s – _I’m_ sorry, Scarlet, I shouldn’t have done that.”  He looked at his wrists, where Barry was still grabbing him, about to ask if he could touch him or if he wanted some space, but Barry wasn’t letting go of him, and Len had the sudden panicking thought that Barry was holding Len’s wrists away from himself so Len couldn’t reach him, couldn’t hurt him.  “Barry, I’m so sorry, I’m –”

            “It’s fine,” Barry said, “it’s…”  He folded inward, wanted contact, wanted Len to hold him.  He was still shaking, and he was cold, was shivering.  The chill swept over him and then he was freezing.  Ice cold around his body, over his skin.  He was so cold.  He looked back and forth, saw his shirt, and for the first time let go of Len’s wrists, grabbing it and pulling it on over his head.  And then he was reaching for the blanket, wrapping it around himself.  He grabbed for Len’s hand, and sat back down on the couch next to him, curled into his side.

            Len froze for a second, and then tentatively brought his arms around him.  Barry had the blanket wrapped tightly around him, shivering, teeth-chattering.

            “Are you OK?” Len asked, “Are – I can touch you?  This is OK?  I can go awa-”

            “No,” Barry said, sounding almost panicked at the mention.  “No, stay, I – I’m cold.”

            “OK,” Len said, “I can get –”

            “Don’t leave,” Barry said.

            So Len sat with him, rubbed his arm and then his back, tried to get him warm, let him curl into his side and shiver.  It took a while for the shivering to subside.

            “I’m sorry I did that,” Len said after Barry had calmed down and warmed up.  He felt sick to his stomach, knowing Barry’s reaction was because of him.  “I didn’t think – I should have asked, I’m sorry.”

            “It’s OK,” Barry said.

            Len hesitated.  “Is it… do you not want me to touch you there at all, or was it just… just because it was sudden, because I didn’t tell you first.”

            Barry shifted.  “Um…”

            “Either one is fine,” Len said.  He kissed the top of Barry’s head.  “I just… I don’t want to do that to you again.  If you just don’t want me to touch you like that, that’s fine, but I – I don’t want to hurt you.”

            “You didn’t hurt me,” Barry said, voice mumbled, sounding slightly indignant, “you wouldn’t hurt me.”

            Len held him a little tighter, still waiting for a response.

            “Um… maybe not right now,” Barry said.  His voice was tentative, almost nervous.  “Just… not yet?”

            “OK,” Len said.

            “Is that OK?”

            “Of course it’s OK.”

            “Oh… I just…”

            “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want, Scarlet,” Len said quietly.  He frowned, placed another kiss to the top of Barry’s head.  “I’m so sorry,” he said again, “I want you to be comfortable.  I don’t want you to ever be scared with me.”

            “I’m not,” Barry said.

            Len closed his eyes.

            “I love you,” Barry said, “I trust you.”

            _Maybe you shouldn’t._   Len wanted to hold him forever.  He pushed down the compulsory need to apologize again.  He kept relaying it in his head.  Why did he do that?  What was he thinking?  He wasn’t thinking.  They had been going slow, and Len had been so careful, was afraid maybe that level of touch, just regular skin to skin contact might freak Barry out after what he’d been through, after he’d had so many people touching him against his will, to hurt him.  He had been so careful, had telegraphed his moves clearly when they had first started dating, and now he just –  He couldn’t even say what he had been thinking because he hadn’t, he had relaxed and his mind was on the feel of Barry’s lips on his own and Barry’s arms around his neck, and he had just slid his hands down, hadn’t even thought about it.

            For a month every time someone touched him it was to cause him pain.  He was jumpy and didn’t like people behind him and he didn’t even like when people touched his shoulder without clearly displaying the action first and Len had just grabbed his ass like it was nothing, what the fuck was wrong with him. 

            He felt sick.  He wanted to throw up.

            “Hey,” Barry said, and Len looked down to find Barry watching him, a frown on his face.  “I’m OK,” he said.  He reached up and touched Len’s face.  Fingers on the side of his face then down to his jaw.


	4. Len Gets Drugs, I Bring the Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A superhero, a theif, and a pyromaniac walk into a dental office

            Mick tossed him the orange plastic bottle.  Len caught it, and then looked down.  There was no label on it.

            “What is it?”

            “Ativan.”

            Len made a face.  “You know I prefer Valium.”

            Mick shrugged.  “Best I could do on short notice.  He said take two.”

            Len shook out three pills from the bottle, and then swallowed them down with water.

            Mick watched him.  “You know, I was never great at math, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t two.”

            “That’s why I’m the numbers guy,” Len said.  He checked his watch.

            “You eat anything?” Mick asked.

            “No.”

            Mick gave him a look; Len ignored it.

            “When’s Speedy showing up?”

            “Ten minutes ago,” Len said, “so give it another five.”

            “We need to be leaving in fifteen,” Mick said, “if you wanna be on time for the appointment.”

            “Pills don’t start kicking in until a half hour at the earliest,” Len said, “I’m not leaving until then.”

            “Takes a half hour to get there, Len,” Mick said, “you’ll be all doped up by then.”

            “Not leaving until the pills kick in,” Len said.

            “You’re the one that always has to be on time,” Mick said.

            “Good point, I should probably just reschedule,” Len said, “avoid the whole problem.”

            Mick ignored the comment.  He went to the fridge and started looking through it.  When he looked back at Len he had a disgusted expression on his face.

            “You’re out of beer,” he said.

            “It’s nine in the morning,” Len said.

            “Just wanted one,” Mick mumbled.

            He was shutting the fridge again when there was a knock on the door.

            “If it’s Barry, let him in.  If it’s anyone else, I’m not here,” Len said.

            Mick opened the door and Barry walked in.

            “Sorry I’m late,” he said.

            “You’re always late,” Len said.

            Barry looked taken aback and Mick just rolled his eyes.  “He get’s pissy when he’s nervous,” Mick said.

            Len glared at him.  Mick went to the cabinets and Barry pulled out the seat next to Len at the kitchen table.  He saw the plastic pill bottle and started.

            “Did you take something?” he said, gesturing towards it.

            “Yes.”

            “What is it?” he asked.

            “Ativan,” Len said, and then glared at Mick’s back, where he was still turned around, rummaging through the cabinets.  “Even though Mick knows Valium works better.”

            “It was last minute,” Mick said.

            “You know, Caitlin could just write you a prescription,” Barry said, “for next time, if you want.”

            “No.”

            “No?”

            “Can’t have any of my names or aliases associated with it.  If someone finds out I got some street drugs, that’s fine.  If they think I’m taking meds for anxiety, that could be a problem.”

            “She could always write it out to me,” Barry said.

            “And then you could get in trouble, and lose your job for sharing controlled substances.”

            Barry sighed.  “Well, if you ever actually need some and can’t get any, I’m sure we could figure something out,” Barry said.  “She could probably get some to stock the lab anyway, and then just give it to you.”

            “Hm,” Len said.

            “Catch,” Mick said suddenly, and Barry turned to find Mick throwing something at Len.  Len caught it and frowned.

            “I’m not eating,” he said.

            “Just eat the damn granola, Snart,” Mick said.

            Len placed the granola bar on the table, eyes hard.  “I said, I’m not eating.”

            Barry watched the proceeding staring match.  “Um,” he said, “why exactly are you not eating?”

            “Sometimes the laughing gas makes me nauseous,” Len said.

            “He’s trying to drug himself up more,” Mick said.

            “The Ativan might also be a bit more potent on an empty stomach,” Len added.

            Barry sighed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

            He wouldn’t eat the bar.  Not even after another staring match and some coaxing from Barry.  He also wouldn’t leave until a half hour had passed.  Barry didn’t really notice a difference in his demeanor, but Len insisted they weren’t getting in the car until a half hour had gone by.

            They took Len’s van.  Mick drove.  Len and Barry sat in the backseat while Mick muttered something about not being a damn chauffeur.  But Len at least stopped being so prickly about things once they got into the car, so maybe the drugs were working, Barry thought.  He let him hold his hand anyway.

            While they were driving Barry lent forward to see around a building outside, and noticed something on the passenger seat next to Mick.  His eyes widened.

            “Is that the heat gun?  Why do you have the heat gun with you, we’re going to the dentist, you –”

            “He brings the gun,” Len said.

            “He – what?” Barry said.

            “It’s part of the rules,” Mick said, “Len gets drugs, I bring the gun, and no waiting room.”

            “What?” Barry said again.  “You mean you’re bringing that inside?”

            “Yes,” Mick and Len said at the same time.

            Barry turned to Len.  “Why is he bringing an extremely destructive weapon into a dentist office?”

            “Because I’m not going in if he doesn’t,” Len said.

            Barry blinked at him.

            “I need to know it’ll be safe if anything happens,” he said, “I won’t take the drugs if someone’s not there with a gun that I trust, and I won’t step one foot in that place if I don’t have drugs.”

            “So I get to bring the gun,” Mick said, and he flashed Barry a grin from the mirror.

           

 

 

 

 

            When they got there, Mick got out of the car, and didn’t wait for Len or Barry to get out before he walked towards the office.  Barry looked at Len, confused.

            “No waiting rooms,” he said.

            Ah.  Barry watched as Mick went inside.  He gave Len’s hand a squeeze.  He noticed for the first time that Len’s hand felt clammy.  He looked over at him.  Len was staring straight ahead, and Barry still couldn’t really tell the difference that the drugs were making, except he was answering in short, softer sentences now.  The words weren’t mumbled, but they weren’t clipped or deliberate like usual, and it was a strange difference.

            “How do you feel?” Barry asked.

            “Like I want another fucking pill,” Len said, under his breath this time.

            Barry gave his hand another squeeze.  “It’ll be fine,” he said, “are you getting laughing gas too?”

            Len gave a curt nod, and then his eyes focused on the building in front of them and Barry looked forward again too.

            Mick was standing back in front of it, waving once, and then standing there.

            “That’s our cue,” Len said, and he looked almost queasy as he said it, but he unbuckled his seatbelt and went for the door.

            They got out, and when Barry offered his hand again Len took it.  Len hesitated at the door, and Barry opened it for him.  He walked through like someone bracing themselves for an onslaught.

            Mick stood beside a dental hygienist at a second doorway.  She smiled at them.

            “Hello, Len,” she said. 

            “Rachel,” Len said, with a nod.  They went through it fast, and then walked all the way down the hall to the last room, which had a door on it (most of them were open).  They walked inside, and the hygienist shut the door behind them, effectively blocking out most of the noise.  Once they were inside Mick rolled a chair over into the corner of the room, and then nodded at Barry.

            “Gonna need another chair for ‘im,” Mick said.

            “I’ll grab one,” the hygienist, presumably Rachel, said.  “Let me just take your blood pressure first, for the laughing gas.”

            Len looked around, really looked like he did not want to sit in that dental chair, and finally acquiesced and slowly, almost tentatively, sat down.  Then Rachel took out the blood pressure cuff, and Barry’s mouth went dry.

            He was fine.  He was perfectly fine.  He watched her unwrap it, fit it around Len’s arm.  Barry could feel his heartrate going up.  He kept telling himself he was fine.  Blood pressure measures weren’t terrible – he could get through them without too much difficulty when Caitlin needed it, but he definitely didn’t like them, and they definitely did make him nervous.  He remembered what Len had said about needing the people around him calm though, and when Len looked over at him he managed a smile that he didn’t think came out too forced.

            Either way, it was done quick.  The hygienist took his blood pressure, wrote it down, and then left with the promise of another chair, and the dentist to be in soon.

            “Mick,” Len said, and it broke Barry out of his thoughts, how sharp his voice suddenly sounded.  “ _No waits_.”

            “Relax,” Mick said, taking a step forward, going to Len’s other side to grasp his shoulder.  “She’s just grabbin’ the dentist.  Be back in a sec.”

            And she was, just a minute later, rolling another chair that Barry thanked her for, the dentist walking right behind her with the laughing gas.  Barry saw Len tense, shooting a look at Mick, who was back in his chair out of the way.  Barry pushed his back, near Len’s side, but took his hand, which Len suddenly grasped tightly.

            “Hello, Len,” the dentist said, “hello Mick.  And I don’t believe we’ve met.  Dr. Johnson.”  The dentist held out her hand, and Barry stuck his out and shook it.

            “Barry,” he said.

            “Well, nice to meet you, Barry,” she said, and then turned to Len.  “I’ve got the laughing gas right here, Len.  Sorry it took me a minute – I’m going to lean you back now, is that alright?”

            Len hesitated.  “Alright,” he said after a second.  His other hand gripped down on the side of the chair, his knuckles going white as his fingers clenched.

            The dentist leaned Len down halfway, and Barry could actually see how Len’s breath picked up as it went. 

            “I’m going to put the mask on now,” Rachel said, and she placed the nitrous mask over his face.

            Len’s hand was tight in Barry’s, gripping hard, and Barry placed his other hand loosely around his wrist, holding with both his hands now, hoping it would feel comforting.

            “We’re starting it through right now, Len,” Dr. Johnson said, “we’ll just leave it like that for a couple minutes, OK?”

            They got a jerky nod, and Barry kept holding his hand as both the dentist and hygienist backed off a little, letting the nitrous oxide work.  After a minute, Barry saw Len start to relax, his shoulder untightening, breath getting steadier, and he finally loosened the death grip on Barry’s hand.  His eyes unfocused a little, and it was strange with how perceptive they usually looked.

            “Mick,” he said.  His voice was quiet, and he moved his hands, then his feet.

            “Right here, boss,” Mick said. 

            “How are you feeling, Len?” the dentist asked.

            His response was delayed.  “OK,” he said.

            “That’s great,” Dr. Johnson said, “we’re going to bring you down a bit more and start, OK?”

            The chair moved, Len’s hand tightened again in Barry’s, and the dentist took a seat behind Len, adjusting the light above him. 

            “I’m going to take a look at your teeth now, Len.  Can you open your mouth?”

            “Mick,” Len said, and his voice was tighter this time.  He was breathing too fast again.

            Mick got up out of the chair.  “Right here, boss,” he repeated.  “Gas not enough?”

            “Too much,” Len said, and he reached to take the mask off.  He was trying to sit up.

            “Ah,” Mick said, but he grabbed Len’s hand before he could take it off, giving his arm a pat.  He turned to the dentist.  “Give him some more.”

            “What?” Barry said, looking at Mick and then Len, who was trying to reach with the hand in Barry’s now, who was still trying to get up, but his movements were sluggish, delayed, even as his hands started to shake.

            Mick shot him a look that clearly said he was to keep his mouth shut.  Rachel did something with the laughing gas, in response to Mick’s direction.

            Another minute and Len was sinking back down into the chair.  Mick patted his arm again and placed it by his side, before going and sitting down in his chair again.

            “Could you open your mouth for me, Len?” Dr. Johnson asked again.  This time Len did open his mouth, albeit there was a good ten second delay before he did.  Rachel grabbed a pair of sunglasses, and fit them over Len’s eyes as Dr. Johnson adjusted the light again.  Barry saw his eyes slip closed behind the glasses.

            The rest of the visit was mostly uneventful.  They cleaned his teeth and applied fluoride and flossed, with Len only semi-responsive the whole time.  They talked around him.  Dr. Johnson asked Mick how business was going (buisness? Barry wanted to ask, is that what they called _robbing?_ ) and how Lisa was and whatever happened to that nice young man they had recommended to come see them (Hartley? Barry was pretty sure they were talking about Hartley) and yes, Dr. Johnson’s son had just started school, he was in kindergarten, wasn’t that just so nice.           

            “And what do you do, Barry?” Rachel asked at once point.

            “Oh, I’m a CSI,” he said.

            “Oh, that must be exciting,” she said, “and how did you meet Len?”

            “Oh, um, through work.”

            “Work – how did that happen, did someone break into his house or anything?”

            “Um,” Barry said, eyes wide, but Mick saved him by redirecting the conversation, asking about Rachel’s brother and how he was doing in school.  Barry wondered how long Len had been going to this place, with Mick at that, for them to know the dentist and assistant so well.

            The only problem occurred when Dr. Johnson checked Len’s teeth.  Len did not particularly like the sharp metal object in his mouth.  They upped the laughing gas a little more – apparently this was a routine thing because no one said anything about it, Dr. Johnson just told Len that she was going to check his teeth for cavities now and then Rachel had reached for the laughing gas again.  Dr. Johnson checked all his teeth, and when she was done looked back up.

            “Len, we’re all finished,” she said, “we’re going to sit you back up.”

            She moved the chair back to a sitting position, and Rachel started switching to oxygen from the nitrous oxide.  As Len started to look more aware, but before the gas was totally out of his system, Dr. Johnson moved around to look at him.

            “Everything looks great,” she said, “gums are healthy, teeth are great, except for one small exception.  It does look like you have one small cavity on the right side, Len.  It’s on the surface, and it really is very small.  It’s a very easy fix, Len, won’t take more than half an hour.”

            Len went tense.  His grip was suddenly crushing again and his eyes were locked on Dr. Johnson.

            “A cavity,” he repeated.

            “Yes,” she said, “but very, very small.  We caught it early.  It’ll take a half hour, barely even need any Novocain for it.”

            Len wasn’t breathing properly.  He shook his head, then reached up and took the mask off.  He was up off the chair in another second.

            “Easy, boss,” Mick said when Len swayed on his feet.  He was around the chair in a second, hand on Len’s shoulder.  Barry moved around to his other side, but Len was already walking out the door.

            “Thanks,” Mick said, calling back to them as he practically ran after Len.  They were outside, to the car, in another minute, and Len was shaking.

            “Len,” Barry said, “Len, hey, it’s OK.”  He reached for Len’s shoulder, and Len flinched, then looked angry, irritated at himself for the reaction.

            “I know,” he said, and got into the car.  Barry got in after him.  “Mick,” he said as Mick got into the driver’s seat.  “Home.  Now, please.”

            “In a flash,” Mick said, and Len didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile, and Mick frowned.  “I’ll call them,” he said as they pulled out of the parking lot.  “We can get you sedated, Len, like last time.”

            Len flinched again.  “I don’t want to be sedated,” he said, his voice harsh, almost growling.

            Mick didn’t respond.  Len was trembling, and taking deep breaths, but Barry could see something shaky coming out in his eyes.

            “Do you wanna watch a movie when we get home?” Barry asked.

            Len blinked, turning to him, hesitated, and then nodded.

            “Anything in mind?” Barry asked, “I don’t have work tomorrow either.  We could marathon something if you want.”

            Len swallowed hard.  “Yeah,” he said, “maybe.”

 

 

 

 

 

            Mick decided he liked Barry coming on dentist trips.  Or more importantly, after dentist trips.

            When they got back, the kid led Len back into the apartment, got him on the couch, and then all Mick had to do was order pizza, the expensive one in the next town over, because Len liked it better than any in Central.  They just barely delivered to Len’s apartment.

            At this point, usually Len would be throwing things.  The last time Len had a cavity was two years earlier, and he had destroyed half the apartment, absolutely silent the entire time, while Mick first tried to calm him down, and then just let him tear everything apart.  Then he had sat down in the middle of the floor, and stayed there, eyes vacant, mostly ignoring everything and anything Mick tried to say or do, for an hour.  Then he had gone and taken a shower, an hour and a half shower, and gone to bed.  The next morning Mick woke up from where he had gone to sleep on the couch to find Len up and at the kitchen table, plans spread in front of him, planning a heist.  And that was that.

            Mick groaned.  They needed to get this over with soon.  Last time Mick had made the mistake of putting the appointment off, giving him a month and a half before they went back, hoping it would give him time to calm down, to come to terms with it.

            It hadn’t.

            Instead he was just laser focused, obsessed with the heist he had started that morning, absolutely refusing to talk about the appointment.  They had him sedated for it – IV sedation – he was out the whole time, didn’t remember anything from it, but the trip there, to get him to go – it was not something Mick was looking forward to repeating.  He had wound up screaming at him that if he didn’t get his ass in the car Mick was going to pull the damn tooth out himself.  Len punched him, screamed that he was an unfeeling, moronic bastard and another half dozen insults, most of which Mick didn’t even understand.  He only managed to get him there at all by calling Lisa, and Len wouldn’t talk to Mick for a week.

            So yeah, Len sitting on the couch eating pizza was already off to a much better start than last time.

            While Barry and Len watched the movie, Mick called the place back, talked with three different people before he managed to get an appointment in for the next week.  The catch was that it wasn’t with Dr. Johnson, the one Len-approved dentist in the entire city (there had been a search, early on – she was kind, efficient, and accommodating, and she knew how to talk to Len, how to keep him calm while still getting her job done).  He was going to throw a fit if he found out.  Even drugged up so much he wouldn’t remember it when the filling was over, he would not want anyone else touching him and poking around at his teeth.

            Mick wasn’t planning on telling him.  Len would assume it was with Dr. Johnson, and Mick wouldn’t say anything otherwise.  The only reason Len didn’t flat out refuse to go to dentists completely, was because he was more terrified of having a tooth pulled than anything else, a fact which Mick repeatedly used to his advantage.

            He hung around until sometime after eleven but before midnight, when both Barry and Len appeared to be falling asleep halfway through

            He called the next morning.  Len picked up, and before he could say anything Mick told him he made an appointment, that they’d sedate Len the whole time, and he’d get him Valium (Valium this time, not Ativan) for the night before and morning of.  He’d be in the office with him the whole time, even though Len wouldn’t remember it afterwards.  The line was silent for a long moment after he finished talking.  “OK,” Len said, and he asked when it was.  Mick told him, hesitating, cringing while he said it, Friday.

            “That’s too soon.”

            “Wait’s not gonna help.  You don’t like waits, remember?”

            Len was silent.  “Fine,” he said, and he hung up.


	5. I'm Bleeding Out

Barry sat on the couch with a blanket around him, arms folded, with a scowl on his face.

            “Can’t we do this later?”

            “No.”

            Barry glared at Len, who was ignoring him, scratching down notes on the paper in front of him.  This wasn’t how he was supposed to spend his Thursday evening.  He was supposed to spend it comforting his dental-phobic boyfriend, not being interrogated.

            “MRI’s or x-rays?”

            Barry glared.  Len looked up.  He nodded.

            “Right, MRI’s – stupid question.”

            It was probably just a defense mechanism – Len was focusing on Barry because he didn’t want to focus on the upcoming dentist visit, but Barry was still pissed about it.  He had been kind of looking forward to getting home and maybe Len being the cuddly one for once.  He had a whole plan set – was going to actually try to make dinner, had a set list of movies ready. 

            “Being examined?”

            “Worse.”

            And instead, he had come back to find Len already with the stupid packet out with all his notes from last time, asking him to finish making the stupid hierarchy of fears.  And yeah, his therapy session was tomorrow, and he was supposed to have it finished by then, but he thought that maybe this would take precedence, and maybe he could just skip the whole thing because it was a stupid idea in the first place.

            Maybe he was being a little selfish about it.  He realized he was twisting Len’s situation around to benefit him, at least in part, and he felt bad about it, but it didn’t change the fact that he wanted to be there for him, and was hoping that maybe for once he could feel useful and needed instead of being the one that always needed Len around.  For once Len seemed to need him, and while there was a part of him that felt guilty for liking that, for enjoying feeling needed and wanted, he still first and foremost wanted to help him.

            “I’m gonna break up the foam.  Put light restraint below MRI’s – like when I hold your hand to keep you from reaching out – but keep stabilization of limbs up above stitches.  That sound OK?”

            “Peachy.”

            Len looked up at him, one eyebrow raised.  Barry only ever stole that line when he was annoyed with him.

            “You need this done for tomorrow,” Len said.

            “I was thinking maybe I’d skip tomorrow,” Barry said.

            Len paused.  He put the paper down and sat up straight, looking at him.  “Why would you do that?”

            “Because you were upset,” Barry said, “I thought that might be a bit more important.”

            “I’m fine,” Len said.  He let out a huff, and then took in a deep breath.  “I’m going to the appointment next Friday,” he said, his voice steady, too steady, almost forced.  “They’ll sedate me.  I’ll be out the whole time, and I won’t remember anything.  It’ll be fine.”

            “You will be fine,” Barry said.  His words were careful, the irritation slipping away for a moment.  “But that doesn’t mean you can’t be or aren’t upset now.”

            Len tapped at the pencil for a moment, eyes still locked with Barry’s.  “I’m fine,” he said again. 

            Barry narrowed his eyes.  “Len.”

            Len closed his eyes, finally letting out a long breath.  “Look, it’ll be better if I just don’t talk about it.  If we just get this whole thing over with, so I don’t have to think about it any longer, OK?  I’m fine.”

            “Don’t talk to me like I don’t know what you’re going through,” Barry said.  His eyes softened.  “I can help, Len.  Let me help.”

            “Helping you helps me,” Len said.  “Let’s just get this list finished.”

            “I don’t want to finish the list,” Barry said, “we haven’t talked about it at all Len – you can’t shut down like that and expect me to just forget it the next day, yesterday you were half catatonic –”

            “Barry,” Len said, “stop.”

            Barr took a deep breath.  “Let me help, Len.  You’re not the only one who can help.  I can help you too.”

            Len let out a long breath.  “Barry, I…”  He trailed off, paused, and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Barry,” he said, looking up again, “you are helping.  OK?  You are, I just… I don’t need the same kind of help you do.  I need…”  He trailed off again, and Barry watched him, his eyes skeptical.  “I need someone to distract me,” he said, “I don’t… I can’t talk about it, Barry.  It’ll just make things worse.  If I… if I don’t think about it, I won’t panic.  I’ll be out for the whole thing, so if I can just… if I can stop myself from thinking too hard about it, then I’ll be fine.  So I just… I need to do that.”

            Barry watched him for a long moment.  “OK.”

            Len blinked at him.  “OK?”

            Barry sighed.  “Yeah,” he said, “I get that.  But can we please quit with the list of fears yet?”

            Len let out a short breath, almost a laugh.  “It’s due tomorrow, Barry.”

            Barry groaned, and threw his head back on the couch.  “This is stupid.”

            “You still need to come up with small things.”

            “Can I do it tomorrow?”

            “You’re working tomorrow, you won’t have time.”

            “Come on, Len, this is taking forever.”

            “Just think.”

            “I don’t know – seeing medical equipment.  Not using it just – just looking at it.”

            “OK, what else – smaller – what just makes you a little nervous?”

            “I don’t know, going into the medical rooms.  The dark.  Being alone for long periods of time.”

            “What else?”

            “I don’t know.  Can we take a break?”

            Len looked up.  Barry looked down.  It was already making him nervous.

            “Sure,” Len said, “you wanna watch something?”

            Barry shrugged.  He kind of just wanted to go to bed now.

            “You alright?” Len asked.  He shifted forward on the chair he was sitting, looking like he was deciding whether to get up and join him on the couch.

            Barry shrugged.  He paused, and then looked up again.  “I hate this,” he said.

            “Hate what?”

            “The lists.”

            Len’s frown grew.  “I know you don’t like doing it, but you really hate it?”

            “I hate the way it makes me feel,” Barry mumbled, “I just want to relax, and I can’t.  I hate doing this at home.”

            “I thought it would be easier, at home,” Len said.

            “Yeah, well, I guess it is,” Barry said, “But this is… this is safe.  And I don’t… I don’t like having to do this kind of stuff here.  I don’t like doing it at all.  I just can’t wait to have it over with so I don’t have to think about it anymore.”

            Barry waited for the response, for the next monologue about how desensitization therapy would be good for him, would help him, would go at his pace.  But Len didn’t say anything.  He just frowned.

            “Well,” he said, “why don’t we finish it up then?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

            The therapy appointment went about the same.  Dr. Davidson asked a few questions about the list, and then asked if he had thought about it anymore.

            “I don’t want to do it yet,” he said.

            “Not even after looking at how you’d start?  At the easy stuff?”

            Barry shook his head.  If anything, the writing out of the list had made him realize all the more why he didn’t want to do it.  Things were hard enough as it was – he didn’t need a daily assignment where he forced himself into anxiety-provoking scenarios on top of it.  He honestly just didn’t think he could handle that too – could deal with that weight, hanging on him.  That even once he got through the day at work, got home to relax, that there would be more waiting.  But he didn’t say that.  He just said he didn’t feel ready.

            She dropped it, like she said she would.  They talked some more about his depression, which seemed to be flaring up lately.  Barry didn’t really want to admit it, but it was.  He was having a harder time just getting out of bed, getting through the day, and lately all he seemed to want to do was sleep.

            They went home afterwards, and that was what he wanted.  He tried to play it as a nap – asked Len to lie down with him, said he was going to nap for a bit.  But Len gave him that look, the one that was only slightly guarded, that read that he knew Barry wasn’t telling the whole truth.  Barry just wanted to sleep.

            “It’s almost five thirty,” Len said, “little late for a nap.”

            “We can eat dinner late,” Barry said.

            “Maybe you can lie on the couch for a bit, instead,” Len said, “while I make dinner.”

            “I really just wanna lie down in bed,” Barry said, “just for an hour or two.”

            “You’ll have trouble falling asleep at night if you do that,” Len said, “Why don’t we eat dinner and watch a movie, and we can go to bed early instead, if you’re tired.”

            “Won’t you just lie down with me for a little bit?” Barry asked, “You can make a late dinner and – just lie down with me until I fall asleep.  And then you can make dinner and you can wake me up after.”

            Len kept giving him that look.  “How about I make dinner, and you pick out a movie.  We can eat on the couch.  Afterwards we can go to bed, if you want.”

            Barry took that and gave up.  He laid down in bed when they got back anyway.  Len let him, didn’t ask, but when dinner was ready, only fifteen minutes later, and Barry knew he was choosing a quick meal on purpose, he came and got him.  Len picked a movie instead, and Barry picked at his food.  He suddenly wasn’t very hungry.

            When the movie was over it was still only a little after eight.  Barry got into bed anyway.  Len came and sat next to him, a book in his hand.  He just sat there for a bit though, hand running over the back of Barry’s shoulder, and Barry felt like crying.

            “I’m never going to get better,” he said suddenly.

            Len turned and looked at him, and there was a large frown across his face.  “What are you talking about?” he said, but his voice was soft.  His hand paused on his back.  “Barry, of course you’re going to get better.  You’ve already gotten a lot better.”

            “Then why do I feel so awful?”

            He couldn’t help it.  He just wanted to sleep.  He felt caught – trapped.  He kept thinking about the list – about all the things he was afraid of, all the things that sent cold panic running through him.  He had to be the Flash and he had to work as a CSI and he somehow had to be Barry Allen too, had to interact, had to eat dinner and not just sleep and all he wanted to do was stop thinking, to make it all stop – to just shut everything off.

            “I don’t know,” Len said.  Barry looked up at him.  His expression was open, if slightly pained.  “I know you’re having a tough time right now.  You were feeling better though, right?  Before?  It seems like it’s been bad the past week or two.”

            Barry shrugged.  He had been doing better before.  He hadn’t had any major injuries since the collapsed building and work had been good and then it was their two month anniversary and he had been feeling pretty good most of the time.  And nothing wrong or big really happened, the feeling had just kind of gone away.

            “I don’t know,” Barry said.  “I was feeling better.  And then I just… wasn’t.  I don’t know why, Len.”

            “It’s not uncommon,” Len said, “depression can be like that.”

            Barry knew that.  Of course he knew that.  “I wish drugs worked on me,” Barry mumbled.

            “Have you asked Caitlin about an antidepressant?” Len asked.

            “No, but it wouldn’t work anyway.  None of them do.”

            “Maybe she could make something.”

            Barry shrugged.  “I’ll ask,” he said.

            Len was quiet for a moment.  “I never asked, but… the dentist appointment, that wasn’t… that wasn’t bad was it?  Could that be triggering it?  Were you –”

            “No,” Barry said, “I was fine.  I got a little anxious when she took your blood pressure, but it was fine.”

            Len nodded.

            “I’ll go with you again,” Barry said, “on Friday.”

            “No you won’t.”

            Barry frowned.  “Len –”

            He was already shaking his head.  “They’re sedating me.  I’ll get an IV, and they’ll have to do Novocain.  You’re not going in for that.  Especially not if you’re already not feeling well, Barry, I don’t want to make anything worse.”

            “You wouldn’t make me worse,” Barry said, his voice soft, “I don’t… you know, I’ve never… actually seen someone else have an IV afterwards.  I don’t actually know if it would set me off.”

            “We’re not finding out that way,” Len said.  “It’s fine, Barry.  I’ll be fine.”

            Barry was quiet.  “I’ll go with you there,” he said, “I’ll stay in the waiting room, but I’ll go with you there.”

            “OK,” Len said.  His voice was soft, and he couldn’t help the small relief he felt at that. 

            He needed Mick there – it gave him the sense of security he needed to even walk in the place, but he wasn’t much for comforting.  He tried, but it didn’t usually come out very well.  With the realization that Barry would be there in the car, that he would insist on holding his hand, that he would walk into the place with him, would help him through that dreaded walk where all he wanted to do was turn and run the other way – it came with a wash of relief, which was followed by dread, guilt, and shame.  He shouldn’t need this, but even thinking about it now sent his stomach rolling.

            “Thank you,” Len said.

 

 

 

 

 

            It was Saturday night when a call from Barry’s emergency number popped up on Len’s phone.  It went through an app that Cisco had installed onto everyone’s phones.  It allowed Barry to press one button on the Flash suit and have an alert sent to Caitlin’s phone and Star Labs, as well as dialing through a list of contacts.  Len was first.  If he didn’t pick up it went to Iris, then Joe, then Cisco, and so on.  Len took a deep breath as he went for it.  He was just out on patrol, no metas that Len knew of.  He probably just hurt his leg, and couldn’t get back to Star on his own.  Len tapped the screen, and brought the phone to his ear.

            “Hey, Scarlet, what’s wrong?”

            “I’m bleeding out.”

            Len paused.

             “What?”

            “I’m bleeding out.”  Barry’s voice was thin, panicked but in an almost surreal sense.  “He hit an artery.  Th-there’s – I’m covered in it.  I’m – Len, I’m covered in blood.”

            “Are Caitlin and Cisco at the labs?” Len said, already grabbing his keys, his fingers shaking, slamming the door open as he took the stairs two at a time.

            “Yeah,” Barry said, “but – Len, it’s – it’s my leg.  Dizzy, I’m dizzy, Len.”

            “Barry, you need to run to Star Labs,” Len said.  He looked down at his phone, saw the address of where Barry was, it was a half hour from where he was, and almost that far from Star.

            “I can’t,” Barry said, “it’s my leg, Len, it’s across my leg, it’s deep, it’s gonna-”

            He got cut off by an insistent beeping, and Len looked at his phone again as Caitlin entered the call as well.

            “Barry?” she said, “you need to get here now, your BP is dropping, what happened?”

            “Got cut,” Barry said.  “I-it’s bad.”

            “You need to run here right now, Barry, your vitals are dropping fast.”

            “I can’t – it’s my leg,” Barry said.

            “You need to try,” Caitlin said.

            Len’s voice overlaid hers with, “Barry, you need to run to Star, now.”

            “I – where are you?  Can’t you come get me?  But – hurry.”

            “How much blood is there?” Len asked.   He got into the van, started it up.  Maybe Barry was just scared by it, maybe there wasn’t really that much, maybe Caitlin was overreacting.

            “A lot, Len,” he said, and his voice was small, scared.  “It… more than… it’s a lot… _gushing_ , Len, and I can’t get it to stop.”  There was a hysterical note entering his voice. 

            “Barry, I need you here now,” Caitlin said.

            “If you were ever going to break your late streak, now would be the time,” Cisco said, his voice muffled, almost in the background.

             “Then run to Star,” Len said, his voice hard, a panicked edge in there somewhere, “run to Star _now_ , Barry.”

            “But where are you?” Barry said, and the words were almost as desperate, almost as panicked.  “I – Len, it’s – even if I – I’m not sure I can – can stand.  I’m trying.  Even if I make it there, it’s –”  Len could hear Barry’s breaths stuttering out, way too fast.  “Stiches,” Barry said with a gasp, “it’s… it’ll… it’ll n-need stitches.”  There was a sob in his voice, “it’s gonna need so many stitches, Len, I can’t.  You have to be there – you have to come get me – come get me, I can’t, I can’t do it without you there, Len.  Please.”

            “Barry you’re BP is getting dangerous low, I know you’re scared, but you have to get here, and you have to get here right now, Barry,” Caitlin said, her voice almost shrill, the layer of calm she tried to throw onto it dissolving with her words.

            “No,” Barry said, “I can’t do it without him, or – or maybe Iris – call Iris, I – maybe, but not alone, Cait, I can’t.  Not stitches, I –”

            “I’ll be there as soon as I can, Barry, I’m already driving, but you have to get to Star now.  I’ll meet you there.  It’ll be OK, I promise.”

            “No, not alone, not – no, I can’t, don’t –”

            “You’re going to pass out, Barry, and we won’t make it in time, you have to run, now,” Caitlin all but screamed.

            “Not with stitches, I can’t do stitches alone – you’ll hold me down, and I’ll be alone, and it’ll be just like when I’m there, when I’m on the table, I’ll think I’m there, I need –”

            “Barry Allen,” Len said, “you are going to run to Star Labs, and you are going to do it right now.”

            “Not without you, not without someone, please, Len –”

            “You won’t be alone.  Caitlin and Cisco will be there.  I’ll be there soon.  I’ll be there so soon, but you need to run now, Barry.”

            “Len, please –”

            “I swear to God, Barry, you run right this second,” Len said, “I will not lose you like this, Barry, not like this, now _run_.”

            Barry ran.

 

 

 

 

            Caitlin was standing over the monitors in the cortex when the rush of wind swept through the room, and suddenly Barry was leaning heavily on the table next to her.  And then he was on the ground.

            “Barry!”

            Cisco rushed around her, already helping to get him up.  He looked down and nearly vomited.

            “Oh, God,” Cisco said, “you weren’t kidding about the blood.”  They got him onto a bed, hauled him up as Barry tried to stand.  He was hyperventilating, hands vibrating with tremors, but he didn’t say anything, just kept looking at them, head moving from one to the other, looking terrified. 

            “Blood and sutures, now,” Caitlin said, already cutting away the suit from his leg.  The cut ran diagonally up from his calf to his thigh.  Cisco came back with several bags of blood and a suture kit.  Caitlin wheeled over an IV stand, and then Barry was backing up on the bed.  Caitlin turned and went for towels instead, and ran to the fridge, grabbed a water bottle, and came back.

            “What can I do?” Cisco said, standing still, hands out, while Caitlin ran around the room. 

            Caitlin paused, looked at him, looked at Barry, and then back at Cisco.  “Hold his hand,” she said.

            “What?” Cisco said.

            “ _Hold his hand_ ,” Caitlin repeated.  She uncurled a towel and spread it over Barry’s chest, then placed another behind his head, going around his shoulders.  “If you’re cold,” she said, and then took one of his hands and placed the bottle of water in it, pressing his fingers around it.  “Water,” she said, “right here, if you need it.”  She shot a look at Cisco.

            Cisco took his other hand, grasping it before placing his other hand on Barry’s shoulder.  “Hey, man,” he said, “I’m gonna stay right with you for this, OK?  I know I’m not Snart, but you’re not alone, OK?  I’m right here.”

            Barry nodded fast, and then Caitlin was cutting away the suit on his arm, so she could get a vein for the IV.

            “Wait,” Barry said, pulling his arm back, the one with the water bottle in it.

            “Barry,” Caitlin said, “I’m sorry, but it’s a one, and I have to get this IV in now to start giving you blood.  I know you’re scared, and I know you want more time, but I have to do it now.”  Before he could pull away again, she stuck him with the needle.  Barry tensed, and tried to jerk away.

            “Hey, man, look at me,” Cisco said, “look over here.  It’s OK.”

            “Slow down,” Barry said, “just – stop – wait, please, please just slow down,” Barry said, tears spilling down his face.  He flinched away from them with every movement.

            “You’re doing great, Barry,” Caitlin said, “that’s all done now.  Just needed a poke.  I’m going to start giving you blood, so you should feel a little better soon, OK?”

            With the imminent threat of blood loss temporarily solved, Caitlin turned her attention to Barry’s leg.  It was not a pretty sight.

            “Wait, wait, please,” Barry said.  He tried to pull his leg back, and blood gushed out.  Caitlin glanced up at him.  He was pale from the blood loss, and the shock and panic weren’t helping things.  She cringed.

            “Barry, I’m going to start putting in stitches now,” she said.

            “No,” Barry said, “no, no, no, please no.”  He brought his arms up, to push her away.  He saw the needle in her hand, and no, he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t.  No needles, please no needles.  Everything was loud and going too fast and he wanted Len and he wanted to go home, wanted Iris, wanted everything to just stop, _please_.

            “Barry – hey, Barry,” Cisco said, ducking his head, trying to get eye contact.  “Hey man, right here.  I’m right here.  Just look at me.  We’re gonna get you patched up real fast, OK?”

            There were tears on his face and blood on his hands and an IV in his arm and Barry shut his eyes and sobbed.  “Please make it stop,” he said.  He just wanted it to stop, just for a second, a minute to breathe, please.  If he could just have a minute, just a minute, he was so scared.

            “We can’t stop just yet,” Cisco said, “but we will soon, Barry, I promise.  Cait’s just gotta patch you up a little, alright?  You’re going to be fine – going to be A-okay, Barr.”

            “Stop,” he said, “wait, please.  I need a break.  I just need a break, just a minute, please, I – I c-can’t breathe.”

            Cisco looked at Caitlin.  She paused, went up to Barry and placed one hand on his shoulder.  “Barry,” she said, “it’s a one.  I need to place the stitches before you start losing blood faster than we can replace it.  You’ll be fine, but I have to work fast.  I need you to look at Cisco, and try to take deep breaths.”

            “Oh, God, oh, God, please,” Barry said.  He was shaking hard, getting even paler.  His heartrate was way too fast but his blood pressure was dropping and Caitlin was already hooking up another bag of blood and they really did not have that many on hand.

            She reached for his leg, got a hand on it, and Barry jerked back.  She felt a sick weight in her stomach.

            “Barry, I need you to hold still,” she said.

            “I c-can’t,” he cried.  He was trembling so hard that it almost didn’t even matter if he pulled away or not, it would be near impossible anyway.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t hold me down.”  Barry tried to take deep breaths, tried to get a grip on himself again.  “I just – just wait for Len, please, just – I’ll be better then.  I ran here, you have me on blood, please, we can wait – we can wait, I’ll be fine.”

            “We can’t wait, Barry,” Caitlin said.  She watched as he deteriorated, shaking harder.  “I need you to try to stay still, Barr.”

            “Don’t hold me down,” he said, “I’ll try – I’m trying, please don’t hold me down.”  He let out a sob.  “Don’t do this to me.  Please, don’t do this to me, just wait for Len – please, I don ‘t wanna do this, don’t do this to me.  I’m sorry, please.” 

            Caitlin opened her mouth, wanted to reassure him, tell him it wasn’t his fault, she wasn’t mad, it would be OK.  But she was already turning to get the foam and she knew as soon as he saw it any semblance of control or calm that he still had would be gone.  She paused.

            “Cisco,” she said, “get the Core Eight.”

            Cisco’s eyes widened in surprise but he left, going for it and Caitlin moved in, grabbed another IV stand and winced.

            “Barry,” she said, “I’m going to give you something to help you calm down, but I’ll have to put in another IV for it.”

            “No, Cait, please,” Barry said, his eyes widening, watching as she readied another IV.  His expression turned even more desperate.  “Please, Caitlin, not another, not – not on this side, not this arm too, please, Caitlin, please don’t.”

            “Just a pinch,” she said, “just one pinch, then I’m going to give you something and it’ll make you feel so much better, I promise.  It’s going to be OK.  This’ll help, Barry, I promise, it’ll make you feel better.”

            She took his wrist and he tugged it out of her grasp, curling up, crying.  “You already have one in,” he said, “there’s already one in, not another, please.”

            “I’m sorry, Barry, I have to,” she said.  She struggled to get his arm back when Cisco came back.  “Barry, please, let me see your arm, it’s OK.”

            “Not in this one, please not in this one, put it in my other hand, please, not this side too.”

            “It has to be in this one,” Caitlin said, “Barry, let me see your arm.  As soon as we get it in you’ll feel better, I promise.  This is going to help.”

            “No, please,” he said.  “You already have one – you already have one, I don’t understand – stop.”

            “I’m going to give you something to help you calm down and feel better,” Caitlin said, slower this time, trying to take a moment to pause, but she could see the blood all over him.  “To do that, I have to place a second IV, and I have to put it in this arm.  I can’t wait right now, Barry.  It’s a one, and I need you to just look at Cisco, and do your best to take deep breaths.”

            “Please just wait ‘till Len gets here,” Barry said, “please, Cait, I – I’ll hold still better, I promise.  I promise I will, just slow down.”

            “I can’t do that Barry, I need to see your arm now.  I’ll get it done fast for you.”

            “No – wait – wait!”

            They had to struggle to get his arm.  Together they managed it.  Caitlin stuck his arm and Barry screamed, sobbing at it, begging them to just slow down, to stop holding him down, to please just one break, just a little break, just two minutes, please.  Caitlin attached the IV and injected the Core Eight into it a moment later.

            Barry went still.  His eyelids dropped, voice cutting off.

            “What – what is that?” he said.  Caitlin moved to his leg.  She had taken too long already. 

            “Stay with him,” she said to Cisco, and he nodded, still holding the arm with the new IV, going to grasp his hand now.

            “Hey, man, how do you feel?” Cisco asked.

            “Funny – no – I – what’s going on?”

            “Caitlin’s patching you up,” Cisco said.  “She gave you something to help you calm down.”

            “No drugs, please no drugs,” Barry said.  “I – I… ‘sco?”

            “Yeah, it’s me, Barr.  It’s Cisco.  Cisco and Caitlin.  You’re alright.  We just gave you something to help you calm down a little.”

            “No,” he said.  His eyes were dazed, and he turned from side to side on the bed.  “No… drugs… make m’ sick.”

            “It’s a new one,” he said, “should hopefully not make you too sick.”

            Caitlin started placing stitches, and Cisco looked up at Barry anxiously, but he didn’t appear to even notice.

            “Barry, how’s the pain?”

            “Pain?”

            “Yeah, you wanna give me a one to ten?”

            “One.”

            Cisco’s eyebrows shot up.  “One?   Like, nothing?  No pain?”

            “No,” Barry said, but he frowned.  “What’s… sticky.  Why… blood.  ‘Sco, there’s… so much blood.”

            “Did you get a painkiller in there?” Cisco asked, looking at Caitlin.

            “No,” she said, frowning.  “It must be the shock.”

            “C’sco,” Barry said, and Cisco looked back at him again.  He was looking up at him now.

            “Yeah, Barry, I’m right here,” he said.

            “Wanna go home,” Barry said.  “It – I – no doctors – please?”

            “Cait’s gonna fix you up,” Cisco said, “then you can go home.”

            “No,” Barry said.  He shook his head, fidgeted.  “I don’t… don’t wanna.  No stitches – it – stitches?  I don’t want stitches.”

            “I know, man, but Cait needs to patch you up.”

            “No,” Barry said, clearly agitated now, “no, please.”  He shifted, looked up, at where Caitlin was, then back at Cisco, eyes darting.  “Please.  Wanna go home.  Please, Cisco.”  His hand tightened in his.  His words were getting clearer, and his hands started to tremble again.  “No – no stitches, please not stitches.”

            “Hey Cait,” Cisco said, “any chance you can give him another shot of that stuff?”

            Caitlin retrieved a second vial and injected it into the IV, and Barry sank back down against the bed, but she shook her head.

            “It’s going through him too fast,” she said, “it would be best with a tranquilizer – the kind we designed for Zoom, but that would interfere with his healing, and as it is I’ve already lowered it.  He can’t afford to have his healing factor totally wiped right now, it’s the only thing regenerating his blood fast enough that he’s not still dying of blood loss. I’ll try and get as much done as possible while he’s still on the drug.”

            They managed to keep him on it until Len got there.  Caitlin tried to get the worst of it over with, but it was a long cut. 

            Len walked in just as Caitlin gave Barry the last shot of Core Eight that they had.  It was a modified sedative she had been working on, but the last version she paired with a coolant to try to slow down his systems.  It had made him sick afterwards, but he had been calm, calmer than he was now with just the Core Eight, although the time before hadn’t been stitches either.

            “Hey, I’m here,” Len said, walking over quickly, taking in the scene.  He sucked in a breath when he saw Barry’s leg, the row of neat stitches, and the large area that still needed to be done.  “Barry, I’m here,” Len said, sliding onto the opposite side as Cisco, taking his hand.

            “Len?” Barry said.  He looked up, eyes hazy.  “Lenny.”    

            “I gave him the sedative,” Caitlin said, “that was the last dose I have though.  I can’t pair it with the tranquilizer because of the blood loss, so it’s not working as well, and I haven’t tested it so I don’t know what the side effects will be, but he was moving too much.”

            Len nodded.  He ran a hand through Barry’s hair and he shut his eyes.  Len tensed and looked back at Caitlin.

            “If this is the last dose and he was moving too much you better just get the foam on him now,” Len said, his voice quiet, “it’ll be worse if you put it on while he’s awake.”

            “’M awake,” Barry mumbled.  He opened his eyes again.  “’wake, see.”

            “More awake,” Len said.

            Caitlin paused.  “If he can stay calm… he’s in shock, and he said he’s not feeling any pain right now.  I was hoping to get through it without having to use them.”

            Len shrugged.  If they could that would be great, but Len saw the size of that cut and he just wasn’t sure.

            Caitlin bit her lip.  “I’m going to try,” she said.  “He’ll start coming around in a few minutes.  Try to keep him calm.”

            “Lenny,” Barry said, and Len turned his attention back to Barry.  “C’sco ‘as here.  You weren’t here, but Sco was.  Want you… C’sco nice too though.  Both?  Can Sco stay?”

            “Cisco can stay too,” Len said.

            “I’m not going anywhere, man,” Cisco said.  Barry fidgeted.

            “Don feel good,” he said.  “Lenny, I feel sick.”

            “You’ll feel better soon, Scarlet,” Len said.  He pushed back Barry’s hair again, fingers running through it, but Barry was starting to get more agitated.  He squirmed, tugging his hand out of Len’s for a moment.  He brushed his arm, over the IV, and Cisco moved his hand away before he could tug on it.

            “Itches,” Barry said.  He reached for it again and Cisco held his hand back.

            “You need that in, Barr,” Cisco said, “it’s helping you keep calm.”

            “Donwant IV’s,” Barry said, “No – no drugs.  Too much.  Not – don’t Mick.  Don’t give me – you said stop, too much drugs and Mick said more and the dentist gave you more drugs but I don’t want drugs.  Don’t give me more – I don’t want them.”

            “It’s just to keep you calm, Scarlet,” Len said.  Cisco was giving him a strange look and Len’s stomach was flipping a little.  He really didn’t need the Star labs crew knowing about his problem with dentists – but he could worry about that later.  “It’s just keeping you calm, Barry.  That’s all.”

            “No drugs,” Barry whimpered.  “I’ll be good.  No drugs, please.”

            “You are doing good, Barry,” Len said, “it’s just me and Cisco and Caitlin.  You’re at Star, remember?  They won’t give you any bad drugs.”

            “Star,” Barry repeated.

            “You’re at Star,” Len said, “at Star with me and Cisco and Caitlin.  No bad drugs, I promise.  It’s just to help you stay calm.”

            Barry whimpered again.  “But I feel sick, Lenny.  ‘M gonna be sick.”

            Cisco reached for the trash can, which he had already placed within reach for this reason, but Barry didn’t start gagging, so after a moment he left it there again.

            “I know it makes you feel sick, but it’s helping you stay calm,” Len said.

            “Am calm.  I’m so calm.  No more drugs?”

            Len sighed.  “We’re not giving you any more drugs, no.”

            “Thank you,” Barry said, “good.  No drugs.  Don’t – feel sick.”

            “Just keep taking deep breaths,” Len said, “no more drugs means you have to stay calm on your own.”

            “I am calm,” Barry said.

            “Can you start taking deep breaths, though – so I know you’ll stay calm and don’t need the drugs?”

            Barry nodded, and then started breathing deeply.

            “That’s good, that’s great, Scarlet,” Len said

            “I’m doin good?”

            “You’re doing so good,” Len said, smiling for a second.

            Len got him to keep breathing deeply – could see as Barry seemed to be getting more aware, and he was hoping if he could have him starting off calm, if he could just keep him in that state, then maybe they could get through this without incident.  He sent Cisco to put up a screen, draping plastic across Barry’s lap, so that a curtain was set up and he couldn’t see what Caitlin was doing.

            The problem started when Barry reached for one of the IV’s again.

            “Leave that alone, Barry,” Len said.  He gently moved Barry’s hand away again.

            “It itches,” Barry said, “and – and I don’t want it.”

            “You need it in right now,” Len said, “Just try not to think about it.”

            “But it’s in both,” Barry said, “why does it have to be in both?”

            “You needed two,” Len said, “just ignore it.  Keep taking deep breaths.”

            He did for another minute, and then he was looking around the screen.

            “Don’t worry about that, Barr,” Cisco said, pulling the stand that the screen was set up on a little further away from the bed. 

            Barry’s frown deepened, and then his eyes went wide and he turned to Len.  “Len,” he said, “I can’t feel my legs.”

            Len looked at Cisco, momentarily just as alarmed as Barry.

            “Your legs are fine,” Cisco jumped in, “your spine is fine too.  You were moving around just fine a little while ago.  You’re in shock, Barry.  You’re OK, it’s just the shock.”

            Barry’s hands started trembling though, and he looked from Len to Cisco quickly.  “I want to see,” he said, “please let me see.”

            Cisco paused, and then moved the curtain aside on Barry’s left, where his good leg was.  He moved it just far enough so Barry could see his leg if he leant all the way over to his left side.  Barry moved his leg a little, and then let out a long breath, and seemed to relax again.  Cisco moved the curtain back over.

            “I feel sick,” Barry said, “why do I feel sick?”

            “We gave you something to help calm you down,” Cisco said, “it should be wearing off now.”

            Barry frowned.  “I – right.  Because… stiches.”

            Cisco nodded slowly.  Barry squirmed.

            “Is – is it done?”

            “Almost,” Cisco said.

            Barry looked at Len and Len squeezed his hand.  “You’re fine,” he said.  “You’re doing great, and you’re fine.  I know this is still scary, but you’re not in pain, you’re just feeling a little sick.  Just keep taking deep breaths and it’ll be over soon.”

            Barry nodded, swallowing hard before taking another deep breath.  He curled slightly onto his side, and Len carded his fingers through Barry’s hair.  Barry closed his eyes, trying to just breathe, just focus on that.

            “I feel weird,” he said, “everything’s cloudy.”

            “They gave you something to help you stay calm,” Len said, “remember?”

            Barry shuddered.  “I don’t like it,” he said, “I wanna go home.”

            “We’ll go home soon,” Len said, “once everything is all set.”

            He tried to ignore the growing itch in his leg, the push pull he could feel, the prod of the IV’s in his arms.  His body felt numb, and his mind hazy.  Usually he tried to just hide away from it, get away from whatever Caitlin was working on, but he couldn’t get away.  She was placing stitches in his leg and he had IV’s in both his arms, no where to turn.  He let out a whimper.

            “Lenny.”

            “I’m right here,” Len said, “right here, Scarlet.”

            “What did they give me?” Barry asked.

            “Something to help you stay calm.”

            “But what was it?  It’s gonna make me sick, I already feel sick.”

            “I don’t know, Barry.  It’s a new one.  Hopefully you won’t be too sick from it.”

            “I can feel it pulling.”

            “But it doesn’t hurt?”

            Barry shook his head.

            “Well, that’s good.”

            “I can feel it poking though, I hate it.”  He buried his head against Len’s side, trying to block out the feeling.  It made him squirm, made him want to scream.

            “Keep taking deep breaths.  It’s almost over.”

            A few minutes later, Barry’s breath started to get labored, and then he started to tremble and fidget.

            “Hey,” Len said.  Barry had pressed his face between Len’s arm and the pillow.  “Everything’s OK,” Len said.

            But Barry shook his head.  “It’s – it’s hurting,” he said, “It’s starting to hurt.”

            Len’s chest tightened.  He gave Cisco a look and he scrambled around to the other side of the curtain. 

            “Ten minutes,” he said when he was back. 

            “Did you hear Cisco?” Len asked.  “Just ten more minutes, Scarlet.”

            “It hurts,” Barry said, “it hurts a lot.”  He squeezed his eyes shut, and then he tensed suddenly.  His eyes snapped back open and he shook his head fast, his breathing kicking up as he started to move.  “Lenny, it – no, it hurts, it _hurts!_ ”

            “Easy,” Len said, “easy, it’ll stop – it’ll pass, Barry.”  He held up his hands blocking Barry from lashing out.

            “No,” Barry shouted.  His voice was rough, cracking.  “Please, stop – I need a break, a break, please!”

            Caitlin’s head poked around the corner.  She touched Barry’s side gently.  “I can give you a short break, Barry,” Caitlin said.  “if that’s what you want.  There’s only a little bit left though.”

            “You sure you don’t want to get it over with?” Len asked, his voice soft.

            Barry trembled, hiccupping out sobs.  “Yes,” he said, “it – I’m sure.  Please.”

            “OK,” Len said, stroking through Barry’s hair now, trying to soothe him.  “We’ll take a break then, Scarlet.”

            But Barry just whimpered.  “It hurts so much,” he said, “the cut, Len – it hurts.  Oh, God, it hurts.”  He pressed his face against Len’s side.  “How the fuck didn’t I feel this,” he said, his voice muffled, “it hurts, Len.”

            “It’ll heal,” Len said, “try to take deep breaths.  It’ll heal and then it won’t hurt anymore.”

            “But it does _now_ ,” Barry said.  “The cut – I can feel it, all the way up my leg – it’s so bad.  I’m gonna be sick.  Fuck, it hurts so much.”

            “Deep breaths,” Len said, “you’re doing great.  I know it’s bad now, but it’ll pass.”

            Barry whimpered into Len’s side, clutching at his shirt.  Barry had moved himself over, half leaning onto Len in his fit when the pain hit.

            “Barry,” Caitlin said gently after a few minutes, “I’m going to finish up the stitches.”

            Barry let out a sob.  “Oh, God,” he mumbled, “oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, it hurts, please don’t.”  He kept mumbling it into Len’s side though, seemed to be speaking to himself more than to Caitlin.

            “Shh,” Len said, “it’s OK.  It’ll be over fast.”

            Barry yelped when Caitlin started, and then he just shook, crying into Len’s side, biting off yells.  When it was finally over he kept crying, like she had never stopped.  A few minutes later he vomited, and Cisco was just fast enough to grab the trash can he had on hand.  But then he kept vomiting, hacking and gagging and crying, tears in his eyes, running down his face as he threw up everything in his stomach and then continued to dry heave for another several minutes.  When he finally stopped he was covered in a cold sweat, shivering as Caitlin quietly informed them he had a fever.  By then Barry was lying limply on the bed, tears leaking out of his eyes, which were open, almost listless.  He had an absolutely miserable, suffering expression on his face, but he was completely exhausted, and he suddenly felt horribly weak.

            “It’s OK,” Len said, still petting his hair gently as Caitlin dabbed a damp washcloth around his face and neck.  Barry’s eyes were fearful, even if he wasn’t saying anything.  His breathing was labored.

            “The stuff we used to calm you down made you a little sick,” Cisco said, “but you’re going to be alright, Barr.  You should start feeling better soon.”

            Barry whimpered, but it seemed he couldn’t manage much more than that.  Caitlin switched out the IV of saline to one of nutrients, hoping to rehydrate him and give him a little more energy. 

            Barry wanted to say that he was scared, that he felt awful, that it still hurt horribly – that he wanted to go home and he wanted Len to hold him and he really, really needed the fucking IV’s out already, _please_ , but he didn’t have the words.  He tried to open his mouth and even that felt like a momentous effort.

            He cried silently, Len wiping away the tears as they came.

            “It’s OK,” he said, “it’s OK.  I know you’re scared, and in pain, but you’re going to be OK.  Sleep now, Scarlet.  Come on, close your eyes.  That’s it.”

            Barry wanted to tell him there was no way he could fall asleep – that the pain and the absolute miserable feeling all through his body would never let him sleep.  He shivered, and Cisco draped another towel over his shoulders, a makeshift blanket.  But he closed his eyes.

            “That’s it,” Len said, “that’s it.  That’s good, Scarlet.  You’re doing so good.  Just relax.  We’re going to take care of you.  Just close your eyes and sleep.”


	6. I'll Eat Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I got a little side tracked...  
> This would be the product of that side track. So I have a sort of calendar on my computer, showing the days that different things happen in this story, and I'm still on track as far as that calendar, but I originally did not plan on going so in depth here. Anyway, long story short, I now have this, but I will be getting back to all the other stuff going on. This is just a small detour.   
> Essentially, we're taking the scenic route.
> 
> WARNING: so there's not an eating disorder, but there is explicit talk about very bad eating habits which I think could be triggering to some people, therefor warning. Also, this gets a little dark and it will probably get worse in the next chapter. Similar to other times in the series, there is allusion to suicide. I am not planning on this being a main topic in this fic, however, I also didn't plan to write this chapter, so I don't want to make promises. If it comes up again in more depth, there will be another warning.

 

            “I think that’s the most miserable I’ve ever felt,” Barry said, “I never, ever want you to give me that drug again.”

            Caitlin cringed.  “I’m sorry, Barry.  You were panicking, and I didn’t want to have to strap you down.  I really think it was only so bad because of the blood loss – I’m still working on it though.  I was hoping I wouldn’t have to use it until I could get some more tests in first.”

            “You didn’t tell me you had a new drug,” Barry said.  He looked almost angry, and he had been acting guarded and withdrawn since he had woken up.  He had thrown up again, and then Len had managed to coax some toast and orange juice into him before Caitlin came back in.

            “It’s not really new,” she said, “it’s another version of the formula I gave you to calm you down before – after the surgery on your arm when the building collapsed.”

            Barry flinched.  “That made me sick,” he said, “you knew this would make me sick.”

            “I suspected,” Caitlin said, “I didn’t know how sick.  I was hoping it wouldn’t be as severe.  You were scared Barry.  If I hadn’t given you the Core Eight then we would have had to use the foam.  Even then you were shaking so much it would have been difficult.  I didn’t want to have to do that to you.”

            Barry looked down, still frowning, still half angry at her for using the drug and making him feel so miserable.

            “I’m sorry it made you sick, Barry,” Caitlin said, “but I’d do it again.  Would you really rather have had the foam?”

            “No,” Barry said softly, after a beat.

            “We were trying our best to help you,” Cisco put in.  “You were freaking out, Barr –”

            “Which is completely understandable –” Caitlin said.

            “But still left us with a non-workable speedster,” Cisco finished.

            “I knew there were risks, but I thought the Core Eight was preferable to using the foam, and running the risk of you tearing the stitches jerking around or vibrating,” Caitlin said.

            “Can I just go home now?” Barry asked.

            They had already taken out the IV’s, and the stitches.  He was completely healed.  Len at least was thankful for that.  He knew Barry would be too, when he was thinking clearer and feeling better.  They had gotten them out while he was still asleep, so he wouldn’t have to deal with them in while awake.  He was weak, from healing so much without getting any more food into him, but he wasn’t so weak he needed to stay for more nutrients via IV.

            “You need to rest, and really try to get some food into you, but yes, you can go home,” Caitlin said.

            Len took him back to the apartment.  He didn’t say much the whole time.  He went into the bedroom when they got there, and Len wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, left long enough to make soup and tea, and then came back.  Barry ate a minimal amount, said his stomach hurt, and then curled up on the bed while Len stroked his hair.

           

 

 

 

 

            It was Sunday when they went back to Len’s apartment from Star Labs.  Barry slept for a while, and Len made him lunch, then dinner.  He didn’t eat much, and when he said he was going home, Len insisted on driving him, because he didn’t want him running before he ate more.

            Barry had work on Monday, and he had stayed over Len’s Friday night, before getting hurt on Saturday.  It wasn’t unusual for him to go back home for a night or two after spending a couple nights at Len’s, but it was unusual that he would so soon after being injured.  Usually he stayed over at Len’s until he was feeling better, and it was very obvious that he was not feeling better yet.  It had Len worried.

            “Call me if you need me to drive you to work tomorrow,” Len said as he pulled into the West’s driveway.  “If you’re going to run you’ll need to at least eat a Cisco bar, or a calorie packet with something.”

            “I’ll eat tomorrow,” Barry said, “my stomach just still hurts now.”

            Len didn’t say anything.  The drug was completely out of his system by now, there wasn’t any way it was still making him sick.  He didn’t think Barry was lying about his stomach hurting, but it wasn’t from the drug.

            Barry turned towards him for a second, grabbed a bag off the floor.  When Len caught his expression it just looked sad.  “You sure you don’t want to stay over my place?” Len asked, had to ask.  Barry looked miserable, and it was strange of him to want to go home like this after he had just had a procedure done.  “Or I can stay over here,” Len said.

            Barry shook his head.  “No, I’m fine.  I just… I have work tomorrow anyway.  It’s fine.”

            “OK,” Len said.  He didn’t like the way Barry looked though, didn’t like what his body language and his expression was telling him.  “Is this… do we need to talk – about what happened?  I know I pushed you when you were calling –”

            He wondered if this was like before, when Barry was angry at him for holding his hands still while Caitlin placed stitches.  He wondered if his yelling over the phone had triggered the same fearful, mistrusting response.  Barry had said afterwards that he wasn’t really mad at Len, it had just been traumatic, and while Barry still wasn’t really himself he hadn’t wanted to be around him.

            “No, you – it’s fine,” Barry said, “I just – I just want to spend a night here.  I’m fine.  I’m just tired.”

            “OK,” Len said. 

            He still didn’t like the way Barry looked, the way he was talking, but he didn’t want to press.  He knew Barry liked having his own space – that he liked sleeping at Len’s but that he didn’t want that all the time – and that was fine.  Len didn’t think he was really ready to be living with Barry anyway – it seemed way too fast for that.  He didn’t want to come across as controlling or stifling, but it was still leaving him uneasy.

            “Give me a call if you need anything,” Len said, “I’ll leave the phone on, OK?”

            Barry nodded, they said goodbye, and Len pulled out of the driveway as Barry walked up the front steps.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

            It was around eleven when Joe went up to Barry’s lab the next day, looking for a report.  He wasn’t there, and Joe figured he’d taken an early lunch break.  He went back around twelve, but still didn’t see him.  He thought that maybe he’d missed him earlier when he was in the bathroom or delivering another report, and maybe then was his actual lunch break.  He waited another half hour, didn’t see him, and that’s about when he started to worry.

            “Hey, Eddie, you seen Barry at all?” he asked as Eddie walked by his desk.

            Eddie shook his head.  “No – he’s not in his lab?”

            Joe shook his head.  He looked down at his phone.  He had already sent a text to Barry earlier, but he hadn’t responded.  He stepped out into the hall for a minute and called his phone instead.

            It rang, and then went to voicemail.  Joe hung up, just as Singh walked by. 

            “Hey, Captain,” Joe said.  Singh stopped, looking back at him.  “You seen Barry today?”

            “He called in sick this morning,” Singh said.

            Joe blinked.  “He called in sick?”

            “Yes,” Singh said, “why?  Is he not sick?”  There was a faint sigh in his expression as he said it, and then he caught Joe’s worried expression.  “Joe,” he said, his tone changing, going serious, “what’s wrong?”

            “Nothing,” Joe said, “he – I came back late last night, he was already asleep – he could just be sick.”

            “Could?” Singh said.

            Joe shook his head.  “He’s not answering my calls,” he said.  “I’ll call one of his friends to go check up on him, maybe he is just not feeling well.”  He paused.  “He had a procedure on Saturday,” he said, “and I’m worried.”

            Singh took a long breath, and nodded.  “If you need to go check on him, go.”

            But Joe shook his head.  “I’m probably overreacting.  Maybe for once he’s actually taking care of himself and taking a day off when he needs to.”

            Singh shrugged.  “Hopefully it’s fine, but if you need to leave, you can leave.  Things are slow today anyway so far.”

            Joe nodded.  He thumbed through his contacts to Cisco.

 

 

 

 

            _Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock_.

            “Hey man, you in there?”  Cisco paused.  _Knock, knock, knock_.  “Come on, Barry, it’s me.”  Cisco went around to the window and peered in.  He didn’t see any sign of him.

 

 

 

            “He’s not home?”

            “He didn’t answer the door.  I couldn’t see him.  He might have been upstairs.”

            Joe hesitated.  He could just be sleeping.  He could just be asleep, not heard the knock, and really just not feeling great after the procedure.  But he hadn’t told Joe he was staying home, and he hadn’t answered the door, and he was definitely worrying now.

            “You know if Snart is there?”

            “If he is he didn’t answer.” 

            “Do you have his phone number?”  Joe couldn’t believe the words were coming out of his mouth.

            “No,” Cisco said.  “But Caitlin does.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

            Snart hadn’t heard from Barry since the day before, and that was it, Joe was leaving.  He stopped by the Captain's office, told him he’d be right back as long as everything was fine, and made the tense drive home.

            He called up the stairs when he got there, but there was no answer.  Joe gave a cursory look into the living room and kitchen, and then went upstairs.  He found Barry’s door cracked open, called in, and then pushed it all the way open.

            There was a lump under the blankets on the bed, and Joe felt a wash of relief as he saw Barry’s head poking out from the blankets at the top of it.  His shoulders sagged, and the some of the tension ran back out of his body.

            “Barry,” Joe said, his voice softer this time.  He went over to the bed and placed a hand on Barry’s shoulder.  He shifted, eyes still closed.  “Barry,” he said again.  Barry finally opened his eyes, looking up at him after a hazy moment.  “How you doin kiddo?” he said.

            Barry shrugged, and closed his eyes again.

            “Captain said you called out sick,” Joe said, “you really feeling sick?  Or you just not feeling good?”

            Barry shrugged again.  The frown on Joe’s face grew.

            “Are you feeling OK, Barry?”

            All he got was another shrug.

            “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

            “Just wanna sleep,” Barry mumbled.  His voice was soft.

            “I know, son, but can you just tell me how you’re feeling for a minute first?”

            Barry shrugged again.  He closed his eyes.  “I’m just tired.  I don’t feel good.”

            “Are you feeling sick, sick, or sad sick?” Joe asked.

            There was a long pause.  “Sad sick.”  His voice was muffled, face turned into the pillow now.

            Joe felt his stomach clench again.  He sat on the edge of the bed and put one hand against Barry’s shoulder.

            “You wanna talk about it?”

            Barry shook his head.

            “Do you want to give your therapist a call?”

            “No.”

            “What do you want to do?”

            “Sleep.”

            “I don’t think that’s a great idea.”

            Barry didn’t say anything.

 

 

 

 

 

 

            Len got there around six.

            Cisco had hung up on him before he had gotten the chance to really ask what was going on – why he needed to know when he had last seen Barry, and then Cisco hadn’t answered his calls, so he had gone to Star Labs, to find he was gone.  He asked Caitlin, but she apparently didn’t know much more than him.  When Cisco got back he may have done some threatening, and then learned that they didn’t know where Barry was but Joe was checking the house.  Len waited at Star Labs, a fairly tense arrangement without Barry there to form a link between them, and Joe had given Cisco a call back to say Barry was home but he wasn’t doing great.  Len gave him a couple hours, but when Cisco called back later to check in, Joe didn’t answer, and Len was done.

            He didn’t care.  West could threaten him if he liked, he was going to see his boyfriend.

            When he got there he knocked on the door.  He was used to letting himself in either by picking the lock on the door or finding a window, but figured this was probably not the time.

            West opened the door.  Len took a breath, steeled himself for the threats, rants, and overall disapproval.  Joe looked at him, sighed, and opened the door.

            Len blinked.  Then he stepped inside.

            “Did he call you?” Joe asked.

            “No,” Len said, “but I heard he’s not doing too great.”

            “He’s not,” Joe said.  “maybe you can snap him out of it.  He’s upstairs with Iris right now.”  Joe nodded at the stairs, and with one last surprised look at West, Len went up the stairs.

            He found the door to Barry’s room open, and Iris was sitting on Barry’s bed.  He saw her first, and then made out the curled up figure of Barry on his side, facing away from him.

            Len knocked lightly on the door, even though it was open.  Iris turned around, but Barry didn’t so much as twitch.  She smiled when she saw him, and Len returned the gesture.  He ignored the part of him that relished that smile, the small part of him that craved the approval of Barry’s friends and family.  He didn’t need it, not the way Barry did, but it was still nice to have.

            “Hey,” he said, and then he walked around to the other side of the bed, and crouched down so his eyes were at Barry’s level.

            His eyes were open, but they were vacant.  They settled on him after a moment anyway.

            “Hey, Scarlet,” he said.  His voice was soft and he reached out to pet through Barry’s hair.  “heard you weren’t feeling great.”

            Barry closed his eyes.

            “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

            Barry made a soft noise in his throat, barely audible.  He didn’t open his eyes, and his head moved slightly, but it was hardly more than a twitch.

            Len paused.  “Slow?” he asked.

            Barry opened his eyes again.  The look there was all Len needed to see to know his answer.

            “OK,” Len said softly.  “Do you think maybe you could sit up for me?”

            Barry closed his eyes, and his expression changed, just for a second, a flicker of a grimace.

            “I know it sounds hard,” Len said, “could you just try for me?”

            Barry shook his head, but Len was half happy with just that.  It was the first real response he’d gotten out of him at all.

            “I’m gonna guess you’ve been lying here all day,” Len said, “that’s not good for you, Scarlet, and it’s not gonna make you feel any better.  Can you just trust me and try to sit up for right now?”

            “I can’t,” Barry said.  His voice was soft, hardly more than a whisper, and raspy at that, but he spoke.

            “I know you can,” Len said.  He rubbed a hand slowly over Barry’s back.  “I know you’re tired, and it feels exhausting, but I know you can.  You know you can too, Barry.”

            Barry didn’t respond for a few moments.  Then the sheets rustled and he forced himself over onto his back.  He sank back down against the mattress and looked back over at Len.

            “That’s it,” Len said.  “Come on – I’ll help you.”

            He put a hand on Barry’s shoulder and the other on his pillows, tugging them up.  Barry pushed himself back, and Len helped him get propped up on the pillows.  He was barely even really sitting up, and he looked at Len with a horrible, miserable expression.

            “There, you did it,” he said.

            “Len,” Barry said, and his voice was pained, and just so tired.  There was a gut-wrenching look of exhausted frustration on his face, like he just wanted Len to get on with it so he could leave him alone again.  It made something twist in Len’s stomach, a sour taste in his mouth.

            Len turned to Iris.  “Could you get Barry something to eat?  Something light, and maybe some tea or hot chocolate?”

            Iris nodded and Barry slumped down more.  “I don’t want to eat,” he said, still in the same quiet, exhausted tone.

            “It’ll help you feel better,” Len said.  Iris got up to go downstairs and Barry stared blankly at the far wall.

            “I just want to sleep,” Barry said.

            “That won’t help, Barry,” Len said.

            “Yes, it will,” Barry said.

            Len frowned at him.

            “I just want it to all go away,” Barry mumbled.

            “Barry,” Len said.

            “I just want it to shut off, Len.”

            “I know,” Len said softly.  He reached out to pet Barry’s hair again.  “Can you tell me why?”

            Barry looked at him with that same expression – the pain, misery, and exhaustion.  “I don’t know,” he said, “I just want to sleep.”  He moved his hand though, reaching, and Len took it.  He gave a squeeze, but Barry just held limply.  “I feel awful,” he said, and his voice cracked.  “I don’t want to be awake – I don’t want to think.”

            “We’re going to help you,” Len said, and he swallowed hard for a second.  “And I know you’re feeling really bad right now, but it’s going to get better, and you’re going to feel better again soon, OK?  It’s going to be OK.”  Len paused, and there was a long silence.  “Can you tell me what you’re feeling now?” he asked.

            “Bad,” Barry said.  “Just… bad.”

            “OK,” Len said, “but what feels bad?”

            Barry shrugged.  “I… I don’t know.”

            Len continued to run his fingers through Barry’s hair for a bit.  “I think,” he said, his voice quiet, careful, “that you got scared, because of your leg.  I think you got really scared, and you were already feeling slow, not feeling good before that.  I think you got overwhelmed, and it all seemed like too much, and I think you shut down against it.  I think your mind is trying to protect itself, by going numb.  And I think that now, when you try to get out of that numb state, everything is crashing in again, so you keep shutting down again because it’s too painful to face it head on.”

            Barry didn’t say anything.

            “So how about we don’t face it head on right now,” Len said.  “how about we take tonight, and I’ll sit with you while you eat something, and then we’ll grab your laptop and Netflix something, and when that’s over, I’ll hold you until you fall asleep.  And we’ll try again in the morning.”

            Barry didn’t say anything, but when he looked up again there was a fraction of something else in his expression, just the hint of gratitude, of comfort.

            “Sound good?” Len said.

            Barry nodded.

 

 

 

 

 

 

            Len stayed over that night.  Joe wasn’t happy, but Len had gotten Barry talking again, and sitting up, a feat which both Joe and Iris had made little progress with.  Joe had to work the next morning, and Iris had gone home.  He left Barry with Len, asking if he wanted him to stay, telling him to call if he needed anything or changed his mind – he’d come right home.  But as much as it killed him to admit, he knew that Barry was probably better off with just Len there than any combination of other people – himself included.  He did better one on one most of the time, and Len had a way of reaching him that had started long before the two had gotten together.  Joe still didn’t like it, but he knew what he saw, and of all his doubts about the man, he knew Len loved his son.

            So he left.  He called around lunchtime, the house phone, and Len answered it.  Joe was surprised by that, but figured they had seen the caller ID and if Barry was acting like he had last night, well – he definitely wasn’t going to pick it up.

            Len told him Barry was asleep, he was taking a nap, but he seemed at least a little bit better than the night before.  Joe hung up after Len promised to try and get Barry to call once he woke up.

            At the house, Len turned back to Barry.  He was asleep on the couch, a compromise.  He hadn’t wanted to get up that morning, and Len had coerced and bargained until they had agreed that Barry would go downstairs for one TV show and try to eat something on the couch, and then he could take another nap.  A two hour nap, not longer.  Barry was currently one hour and forty-five minutes into that two hour nap.  Len was not really looking forward to waking him up from it.

            Fortunately, it ended up being easier than he anticipated.  Barry started to turn and move more, so when Len went to wake him up, he was already semi-awake.  He still didn’t want to get up, but Len coaxed him into a sitting position, where he sat, slumped, looking only slightly less miserable than he had the night before.

            “Do you want to take a bath?” Len asked.  “I’ll wash your hair, like last time.”

            Barry shook his head, and grabbed another blanket before pulling it around himself.  He shivered.  Len frowned.

            “You’re cold?”

            He nodded, and Len’s frown deepened.  “Are you OK?  Are you feeling anxious too?”

            Barry shook his head.  The bad bouts of depression rarely coincided with the anxiety.  Usually it was one after another, but not at the same time.  The depression slowed him down too much, and the anxiety ramped him up.

            “You should eat some more.  Think you could handle a Cisco bar?”

            Barry shook his head, making a face.  “I’ll throw up,” he said.

            “The drug’s out of your system, Barry,” Len said, “it won’t make you sick anymore.”

            Barry still shook his head.  “I feel sick still though.  If I eat anything with that many calories at once I’m gonna throw up.”

            “Alright, well it’s really time for lunch anyway.”

            “I just ate breakfast,” Barry said, a pleading note entering his voice.

            “I know, but it wasn’t much, and that was still three hours ago, Barry.  Is there anything you want for lunch?  I don’t know what you have, but I saw stuff for sandwiches.  There was a frozen pizza I can heat up.”

            “I don’t want anything,” Barry mumbled, so Len went and made a sandwich because a greasy pizza might be a little over ambitious at this point.  He came back with the sandwich and a glass of lemonade.  Barry sipped at the lemonade almost immediately, but he ignored the sandwich entirely for a good ten minutes, and then only really nibbled at it.

            “Can you eat at least half,” Len said, “and I’ll put the other half in the fridge, and you can try again later.”

            Barry made his way through half the sandwich.  It was painstakingly slow and filled with more words of praise and encouragement from Len.  By the time he finished it he was looking exhausted again.

            “I really am tired,” Barry said, “maybe I’m still recovering from the blood loss.  I want to go back to bed.”

            “It’s not the blood loss, it’s the fact that you’re not eating enough,” Len said, “why don’t we try a movie?”

 

 

 

 

            They watched a movie, then Len tried to get him to eat the rest of the sandwich.  He refused.  Then he took another nap, or said he was anyway.  Len didn’t think he ever actually dropped off into sleep, but that didn’t stop him from lying with his eyes closed on the bed for another two hours.

            Joe got home, and by that time Barry had stopped talking again.  He answered with nods or shakes of his head, didn’t answer at all, or at the absolute most, monosyllabic speech.  Len couldn’t help thinking that this was why he didn’t let Barry just lie around without doing anything.  He got worse when he did.  He got stuck in his own head.  But there was only so much he could do to try to stop that from happening before Barry went to bed on his own and laid down and started ignoring him.  When they tried to get him to go downstairs for dinner (Joe had made one of his favorites in an effort to entice him to eat) he flat out refused.

            Len didn’t leave.  He almost never stayed long at the Wests when Joe was there.  Him and Barry only ever really hung out at his house when Joe wasn’t home, and then, Len usually made a hasty goodbye when Joe arrived.  But the way Barry was reacting was scaring him, and short of pressing a gun to his head, Len wasn’t leaving when he was like this.

            Fortunately, Joe didn’t ask him to leave.  Len might not like the cop, but he knew Joe wasn’t stupid.  They both knew Barry often did better with Len, and it certainly wasn’t going to hurt to have him there.  Len was sitting with him when Joe brought up a plate of food.

            “Barr,” Joe said, “I brought you some food up.  I know you’re not hungry but we really need you to at least get down something.”

            “Do you think you could sit up a little bit, Scarlet?” Len asked.  Barry’s eyes blinked open, moved up to rest on his.  He shook his head.

            “We really need you to sit up for this,” Len said.

            “Not hungry,” Barry said.

            “You still need food, Barr,” Joe said.

            “You haven’t been eating much of anything the past couple days, Scarlet.  Your body can’t take that, Barry,” Len said.

            “’M not running,” Barry mumbled.

            “You still need food,” Joe said.  “Not running means you don’t need calorie bars.  It doesn’t mean you don’t need anything.”

            “’M fine.”

            That went on for a while.  Eventually Len got him to roll over onto his side, where he then fed him small bites for a bit.  It would have actually been pretty romantic if Barry didn’t keep trying to turn away from him every time Len brought the fork near his mouth.  After a half hour had passed and Len had only managed to get him to eat a quarter of what was on the plate, he was at the end of his rope.  He was torn between screaming and breaking out into half-insane laughter.  It was morbidly comical, feeding Barry like he was a stubborn toddler, and the reality that it was the only way they could get him to eat was crushing.

            He put the plate down, and pressed his hands against his face.  The stress was getting to him now, had mounted to the point where Len could no longer just ignore it.  He felt wrung tight, frustrated and upset and feeling terribly useless.  How did this happen?  How did it escalate so quickly?  Two weeks ago Barry was smiling at him on the beach, and now he was halfway to catatonic.

            “I’m sorry.”

            Len opened his eyes and looked back down, surprised to see Barry looking at him.  He went back to petting Barry’s hair, shaking his head.  “You don’t have to be sorry about anything, Scarlet.”

            “I’m making you upset,” he said, his voice quiet, mumbled.  “’m being difficult.  I’m sorry.  You don’t have to stay.”

            “I’m not going anywhere, Scarlet,” Len said.  “I’d wish you’d try a bit harder to eat for us, but you’re not being difficult, Barry.  Your depression is being difficult.  And I’m sorry you have to go through this.  It’ll get better.”

            He had to remind himself of that too.  It would get better.  Barry would get better again.  He’d have that smile back, have that unending kindness, that light back again.  It was hard to watch – so hard to watch Barry like this, when Len knew he was in pain, when he knew he was absolutely miserable, and there was very little Len could do about it.  But it wouldn’t last forever.  Even if it was longer than usual, even if this continued for another few days (and he didn’t want to entertain the idea that it could be weeks) Barry would get better.  Len knew he would.

            Barry was quiet for a minute.  And then he looked back up at him.

            “I think I could try one more bite,” he said.

 

 

 

 

 

 

            He got in two more bites.  After that he shook his head again, said he was sorry, he couldn’t, he felt sick already.  Len stayed the night again, because he wasn’t leaving when he was like this.  He called Lisa and had her bring over some clothes the next morning.  Barry didn’t seem much better the next day, in fact he only looked more exhausted, which Len didn’t understand because he was sleeping an absolutely excessive amount.  He didn’t eat any breakfast.  He got a look in his eye when Len mentioned pancakes, guilt and shame and misery all mixed together, and Len let it go too easy.  He knew he should have pushed more.  Barry needed to eat.  But he also knew that he was the cause of that guilt, that it was because he had asked him to try harder, and he hated that awful look in Barry’s eyes, so he let it go.  Barry promised to eat lunch instead.

            Iris left for work around eleven thirty in the morning.  Len gave Barry the next half hour to keep sitting in bed, a laptop he wasn’t paying any attention to in front of him.  And then it was time to go downstairs.

            “Can’t we just stay here for a little longer?” Barry said.  He was talking better again, just seemed exhausted.  Len figured he got worse at night, that maybe it was the dark, maybe just that he was more tired.

            “It’s time for lunch,” Len said.

            “Can’t we wait until one?” Barry said.  He had a grimace on his face.  “It’s still lunch time at one.”

            “It’ll take me a bit to make whatever you want, anyway,” he said, “let’s go down now.”

            “I’m tired, Len,” Barry said.  And he did sound tired, sounded so tired.  Len felt his shoulders slump.  It was wearing on him too, and he had to remind himself that Barry needed to eat, and that this was never going to get better if he stayed in bed all day.

            “We’re going downstairs,” Len said, his voice firm, “and we need to have lunch.”

            “You can bring it up to me,” Barry said.

            “It’s not good for you to stay in bed all day,” Len said, “let’s go.”

            Barry got a dark look on his face, one that Len knew and made him suck in a breath.

            “No.”

            “Barry.”

            “I’ll go down at one.”

            Len waited.  They stared at each other.  “You need to eat,” he said slowly, “putting if off isn’t going to help.  Sitting in bed all day is also not going to help.  I know you don’t feel good, and I know that seems really hard, but you can do it, and it will help, even if it feels like it won’t.”

            Barry didn’t say anything.

            “If you really won’t get up, I’ll just carry you,” Len said.

            Barry’s eyes widened, but the stubborn glint there didn’t leave.

            “No you won’t.”

            “Yes I will.”

            “You can’t carry me that far,” Barry said.

            “I carried you up the stairs of a motel, remember.  I’m pretty confident I can make it down the stairs.  You don’t weight that much, Scarlet.”

            There was another staring match.  Then Len moved towards him.

            “Are you – Len, stop, don’t – are you fucking serious, put me down!”

            Len picked him up bridal style, went two steps, and then he froze.

            “I can’t believe you, you’re a fucking asshole, Len, would you just –”  Barry caught the expression on Len’s face and stopped abruptly.  His expression changed, the anger falling away.  “What’s wrong?”

            Len set him down, and Barry gripped his forearm.  Len took a step back, suddenly looking him up and down before meeting his eyes again.  Len’s face was full of worry and a stab of shock.

            “Barry,” he said, “just how much weight have you lost?”

            “What are you talking about?” Barry said.  He looked down at himself too.  Sure, he knew he had been losing some weight, had to wear his belt tighter, but it was nothing serious.

            “You’ve got to be at least twenty pounds lighter,” Len said.  _More_ , his mind supplied, it was definitely more, but he refused to think that, refused to acknowledge it, he just didn’t remember right, he just seemed lighter.  “Where’s your scale?”

            And Barry found himself being dragged into the bathroom, Len’s face still a wall of concern.  He let him nudge him onto the scale, and then waited.  A second later the number popped up.

            137.2 lbs

            Barry stared at the number.

            “That’s not right,” he said, voice way too fast, going to look up at Len and then back down.  “That can’t be right.”  He stepped off, waited for it to go blank, and stepped on again.

            137.5 lbs

            “It’s broken,” Barry said, “that…”  He stared down at it.  “That can’t be right,” he said, his voice quiet this time, slow.  “It… I can’t weigh that.”

            “Barry,” Len said.  “You’ve lost over forty pounds.”

            After the coma his weight had fluctuated like crazy at first, but after the first couple months, Caitlin and Cisco had worked out a caloric plan for him, and his weight stabilized at just over 180.  With the way his body burned off calories and how he took them in again, his weight still fluctuated quite a bit, and that was going to happen no matter what they did, but even then he pretty much stayed in a bracket between 170 and 190.  The last time Barry weighed under 140 had been in high school.

            “It’s broken,” Barry said, “it has to be broken.”

            Len stepped on the scale.  His weight matched.  He stepped off and turned to Barry and his hands were on the bottom of Barry’s shirt before he could do anything, pulling it up.

            His ribs were prominent, easily seen, and by contrast the abs Barry had since the lightening were almost shrunken – still able to be seen by the pure lack of body fat there, but not nearly as defined as usual.

            Barry grabbed the shirt, looking down.  He turned, opened the closet door in the bathroom, to reveal the full-length mirror hanging on the inside of the door.  His eyes went wide when he saw his reflection there.

            “That… I…”  He touched his own skin like it was alien, fingertips running over his ribs, then his stomach.  They slid down to his hip bones, and he had been wearing sweatpants the past couple days so he hadn’t really noticed, but he was sure now that his regular pants wouldn’t fit, and now that he was thinking about it, he couldn’t really remember what notch he had gotten up to on his belt, had just kept adding them, kept pulling it tighter every time the past week, and he suddenly wanted to know what hole it was really on.

            “Barry, this is not healthy,” Len said.  He was at a loss, staring at Barry, wondering how he hadn’t seen it earlier, wondering why Caitlin hadn’t kept him longer on that IV, wondering how the hell they were going to fix it now when it was a struggle to get Barry to eat two bites of anything.

            “I – I didn’t mean to,” Barry said, “I just – I haven’t been hungry.  I haven’t even been really running much, Len, I just… I didn’t realize.  I knew I was losing weight, but I – I didn’t…”

            Tears were welling up in his eyes and he looked at the floor.

            “I lost forty pounds,” he said, to himself, staring at his hands, looking at the bones of his wrists now, looking back at the mirror, pulling at the sleeves of his T-shirt to look at his arms.  “I lost forty pounds,” he said again, even quieter.

            “Come on,” Len said.  He led Barry out, to the couch, and had him sit down.  He went to get water, and when he came back Barry was staring at his hands again, how the bone in his wrist was sticking out, tears in his eyes.

            “Fuck,” he said, and his voice cracked, and then suddenly he was crying.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he said, head in his hands, shaking.

            Len took a blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, and sat down and held out his arms, was halfway to getting an arm around Barry’s back when Barry turned, forehead against Len’s shoulder, still crying.

            “Shh,” Len said, and Barry’s body shook.  “You’ll gain it back,” Len said, “it’ll be OK.  This isn’t permanent, Barry.  It’s just your weight, you’ll gain it back.”

            “How?” Barry said.  “I can’t – c-can’t even… fuck.”

            That was a good question, Len thought.

 

 

 

 

            Len set the bowl in front of him and Barry stared at it miserably.  When that went on for over a minute Len sighed and sat back down next to him.

            “You don’t have to gain it all back right now,” Len said, “I know that seems really overwhelming right now.  We’re not trying to get you to gain it back now.  We just don’t want you to lose anymore.  That’s all this is.  It’s just to make sure you don’t lose anymore.  When you’re feeling better you can gain the weight back.  It won’t be hard then.  You don’t have any trouble eating when you’re feeling normal, so it won’t be hard then.  It’ll just mean more Cisco bars.”

            Barry kept staring at the bowl of mac and cheese.  He liked mac and cheese.  It was the artificial kind that came in a box and was terrible for you and Barry loved it.  Just looking at it made him want to throw up.

            “I don’t wanna eat anything,” he said softly.

            Len sighed.  “I know Scarlet, but just try one –”

            “I hate this.”

            “I know, Barry.”

            “I really, really fucking hate this.”

            Len just looked at him.  He didn’t really have anything left to say.  Repeating “I know” was not really helpful, and there wasn’t really anything that he could say that would be.

            “I just wanna sleep,” Barry said, face down, like he was talking to the mac and cheese itself.  “I just wanna sleep and not wake up.”

            Len felt an icy shot go down his spine, fill his stomach with hard rocks.

            “Barry,” he said, the name feeling half-strangled, half-shouted to Len, but it sounded fairly normal.

            “I hate eating.  I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

            Barry moved over the statement easily, like he hadn’t even realized what he said, or worse, like the idea didn’t seem like a big deal to him, and Len felt sick.

            “Barry, you – don’t say things like that,” Len said, “you –”

            He looked at him, confused.  “But I do feel sick.”

            “No, not…” Len paused, shook his head.  “Never mind,” he said.  Maybe Barry hadn’t meant it like that, must not have meant it like that, must have just meant because he was so tired, because he just felt so exhausted.  He was using it as an expression, Len thought, and relaxed again, although the rocks were still in his stomach.

            He got him to eat almost three quarters of the bowl, and after that he insisted he was too full to eat anymore.  Len figured that was probably true – his stomach would have shrank with how he hadn’t been eating.

            Barry wanted another nap, said Len could time him, two hours, and then he’d go back downstairs.  That was when Iris was getting there.  And Len know how tired he was, saw how exhausted he was, and he had eaten a fair amount of mac and cheese so Len acquiesced and they went back upstairs.  Len was walking up, made it to the top and turned, only to see Barry halfway up the stairs, stopped, his face pale.

            “Barry?” Len said, suddenly alarmed.

            “Sorry,” Barry said, and then he walked the rest of the stairs, slowly, and at the end he looked out of breath.  “I just… I don’t know.”

            “OK,” Len said, “let’s just get you in bed.”

 

 

 

 

            Barry woke up two hours later when Len shook him and was groggy and generally ignoring him for another fifteen minutes before he really woke up.  They were almost to the bottom of the stairs when Barry stopped.

            “Len,” he said. 

            Len turned.  His voice was small, almost choked out, and it had alarm bells ringing already, and then Len caught sight of him.

            He was pale as a sheet, gripping the railing, white knuckled.

            “Dizzy,” he said, and then he fell.

            Len caught him, stumbling back the last step, almost sending them both to the ground before he got a grip on Barry’s arms.  Barry was clutching him now, looking up blankly.

            “Barry – hey, Barry,” Len said.

            “Yeah,” Barry said, and Len felt relief that he hadn’t passed out for about half a second before the worry washed in again. He mostly carried Barry to the couch, holding him upright, before helping him lower himself onto the couch.

            Len grabbed the lemonade that was still sitting on the coffee table from lunch.  It was warm now, but it had sugar, and Len pressed it into Barry’s hands.  Barry took it, looking confused, but at the look on Len’s face quickly took a few sips.  He seemed to recover quickly though, and while still pale, color washed back into his face, and his eyes were back to looking aware in a couple minutes.

            “What happened?” Len said.

            “I don’t know,” Barry said, “I just – I got really dizzy all of a sudden, and then, I don’t know, I felt really weak.”  He looked at the concerned look on Len’s face and frowned.  “I’m OK now,” Barry said.

            “Barry,” Len said.  He swallowed.  “I think we need to call Caitlin.”

            The color drained from his face again, leaving him just as pale as before, except now instead of vacant his eyes were manic.

            “No – nononono, Len, I’m fine.  I feel better now.  This used to happen all the time, my blood sugar got low and I passed out – but I’m fine now, it’s not a big deal or –”

            “This isn’t just your blood sugar,” Len said, “this is because you’re severely underweight.”

            “You just said it was fine though,” Barry said, “you just said we’d wait until I was feeling better, that I’d just eat more calorie bars, you just said not to worry about that right now!”

            “That was before you almost passed out, Barry!” Len said.

            “I almost pass out all the time!” Barry said, waving his arms now, “it’s fine, Len.  I’m fine, I feel fine now.”

            “I’m calling Caitlin,” Len said.

            “No,” Barry said, “Len, I’m fine, don’t – don’t!”  He yelled as Len took out his phone, and then he lunged for it.  Len pulled it back just in time.

            “Barry,” he said, “if you’re really fine she’ll just say you’re fine, OK?  And if you’re not we need to do something about it, Barry.”

            “But she won’t say I’m fine, she never says I’m fine, you know that, she’ll want to do tests anyway, she’ll want to do tests even if she thinks it’s probably fine – Len, don’t.”

            “Barry –”

            “She’ll make me get an IV!” Barry yelled.  There were suddenly tears in his eyes and he was clutching Len’s arms.  “I can’t do an IV right now, Len, I can’t.”  He let out a choked sob, head hanging down.  Len could feel his fingers digging into his arms, could feel the way they were starting to shake.  “I won’t get better, I can’t keep feeling like this and it’s gonna make it worse.  I’m not gonna get better and I can’t do this Len, I can’t take another thing right now, I can’t.”

            “Barry,” Len tried, but his voice was drowned out.

            “You keep saying it won’t last forever and I’ll feel better soon but I’m not, I’m just gonna get worse, I can’t do that again.  I’ll try to eat – I’ll try to eat more, I promise, I swear, just don’t make me get an IV, don’t make me, it’ll make it worse.  It’ll make it worse and then I’ll keep feeling awful and I can’t keep doing this Len, it hurts, everything hurts, I just wanna die.”

            The icy shot was back and the rocks were rolling in his stomach and Len’s throat was closing but Barry was just pausing to suck in a breath.

            “If I get an IV I’m gonna get worse and I can’t keep feeling like this Len, I can’t get worse, I feel so awful already, and I won’t get better, I’ll just get worse, I can’t do it right now and if you call her she’s gonna make me get an IV and you’ll have to hold me down and –”

            “I won’t call her,” Len said.

            Barry stopped.  He blinked at him.  “You – you won’t?”

            “I won’t call her,” Len repeated.  He wondered who he was really repeating it to, and then he tightened his arms around Barry and hugged him tightly against him.  “I love you,” he said, “I won’t call her.”

            “I love you too,” Barry said, and his arms wrapped around Len too.  The adrenaline was still spiking in his blood and the relief was immense, so much that he almost didn’t find it strange, that he almost didn’t even register the odd way Len was acting, how odd it was for him to not, to agree to not calling her.  But he didn’t care.  He wasn’t calling her and he was holding him and Barry was safe.  Safe, safe, safe, and he wanted to stay there forever.

            "I won't call her," Len said.


	7. Oh, Lenny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same warnings as last chapter, and my detour is getting back on track (slightly). Anyway, here you go :)

            Len was acting strange. 

            He kept holding Barry’s hand, and Barry liked that, but it was kind of odd for him.  And he was acting jumpy and agitated, which was honestly kind of scaring him.  And now he was staring at him, waiting for Barry to take a bite of the sandwich he had placed in front of him.

            Barry grimaced.  But Len hadn’t called Caitlin, and he was all jumpy, and Barry was still sort of giddy about the fact that Len wasn’t going to call her, so he took a bite.

            Len had put calorie powder on it, and Barry only got three bites in before he felt like he was going to throw up he was suddenly so full.  He tried to get Barry to eat a Cisco bar, just a couple bites, but Barry couldn’t stand to.  But even those three bites were pretty good with the added calories, and Barry could feel it afterwards.  He felt better, suddenly a little less tired, and the dizziness that had been on again off again for the past two days was gone.  He had recognized that as a symptom of not eating, but hadn’t told anyone.  They had already been trying to cram food into him enough.

            Iris got back a little later.  Len didn’t tell her about the weight, and Barry wasn’t about to volunteer the information.  She’d probably tell him to see Caitlin too, and Barry wasn’t about to risk Len changing his mind.  Not to mention he didn’t think he’d ever convince Iris not to tell Caitlin about his weight.

            He still felt shitty.  He was anxious now too – anxious after the near panic attack at the thought of having an IV, and he still just wanted to sleep again.  He also didn’t want to think about how much weight he’d lost, or how he was going to have to gain it back.  He knew Len was right, when he was feeling good, eating wasn’t a problem, but Barry was starting to doubt his ability to stay feeling good for long enough to gain it back.  It was just another problem, another thing to add to the growing list of responsibilities and difficulties he was having.  It would be another thing to worry about, another thing to have a regiment with, another thing to have to _think_ about.

            He really just didn’t want to think lately.

            He wanted to sleep.  Just wanted to sleep and shut off his brain, to not have to _be_ for a while.  He just wanted a break.

            Len sat with him on the couch after Barry finished eating.  Barry wanted to sleep, Len had gotten this horrible sad look on his face when Barry mentioned it, and Barry had agreed to stay downstairs and watch another movie.  He was honestly getting pretty sick of movies.  But Len practically tugged him into his lap, and Barry liked the contact, and he was still feeling especially safe lately, a byproduct of Len having listened to him for once when it came to his health.  He was used to feeling helpless when he was hurt, used to having people make all the decisions for him, and Len had listened to him instead.  That was helping a little at least, the safe feeling chasing out the worst of the depression.  The sharp edge that had been present the past couple days was dulled.  He still felt pretty awful, but there was a deep, sharp misery that he could only name as a stark _pain_ , which was absent now.  And after the past two days, that in itself was pretty fucking nice.

            Len stayed over again that night.  Barry didn’t retreat as much this time.  He managed to keep talking anyway, and even eat about half of the dinner Joe put in front of him.  When he went to bed, only around nine, Len wrapped himself around him, holding him tightly.  And Barry liked that, really liked that, but he turned around in his arms anyway, frowning.

            “You don’t have to sleep now,” Barry said.  He knew Len never really went to bed before eleven.  Usually if Barry went to sleep before that Len would sit up in bed and read for another hour or two before he lay down to sleep as well.  Even when Barry was doing well, he slept odd hours, sometimes exhausted by eight, other times staying up until two in the morning.  But Len pretty much went to bed at eleven every night, and got up around seven, unless he had to be somewhere later than that, which wasn’t infrequent, but left to his own devices he went to bed around eleven.

            “I really just want to hold you right now,” Len said, “as long as that’s alright.”

            “That’s alright,” Barry said, “that’s always alright.  You know I like that.  But – you don’t have to just – I’m OK Len.  And you don’t like to go to bed this early.”

            Len kissed Barry’s forehead.  “I’m kind of tired tonight.”

            “OK,” Barry said.

 

 

 

 

            Len watched Barry go down the stairs carefully, turned around the whole way, in front of him, waiting for him to fall.  He didn’t, although he did go a few shades paler.  Len made oatmeal, which he put calorie powder in, but Barry once again only managed a few bites.  Iris came over around ten, planning on working from the West’s house to stay with Barry instead of going in to the office.  Barry seemed to be doing at least a little bit better that day, was on his laptop anyway, instead of just staring into space or mostly ignoring whatever movie or TV show was on.

            “Do you think you’ll be OK if I stop by my apartment?” Len asked, turning to Barry on the couch.  “I’ll only be an hour or so.”

            There was a flash of disappointment on Barry’s face, but he covered it up quickly, looking over at Iris instead.  “Yeah,” he said, “I’ll be fine.  Just – come back soon?”

            “One hour,” Len said, and kissed him once, before standing up.

            He drove back to his apartment, and when he got back, charged up his phone.  He had forgotten his charger at home and Barry didn’t have the same kind.  He took a quick shower, got out, and then went to check his phone.  There was one call from Mick, a dozen text messages from Lisa, and another couple phone calls from her.  He packed another bag full of clothes and then gave Lisa a call back.

            “What is wrong with you, never answering your god damned phone?” was the greeting he got when it stopped ringing.  He sighed, sat down, and ran a hand over his forehead.

            “It died, Lisa.  I didn’t have the charger.”

            “Well why didn’t you ask me to grab it when I brought you over your clothes?”

            “I didn’t think about it.  Forgot.”

            She let out a dramatic sigh.  “Well as much as I love Barry, we sort of need to know when you’re going to be back, Lenny.  It’s getting harder and harder to convince them you’re still doing recon, Len.”

            Len sighed.  He didn’t have time for this.  “I don’t know, Lis.”

            “Well can’t you get on a rotating schedule or something.  I’m sure you’re not the only one he has to stay with him.  I know you want to be there for him, Lenny, but you can leave for a few hours, it’s –”

            “I’m not leaving him.”

            There was a beat.  “You –”

            “Lisa, I don’t have time for this,” he said, “I’m at home now, and I need to get back, OK?  I don’t have time to –”

            “If you’re home now then why don’t you just swing by to the safe house, Hartley and Mark are here now and Shawna’s on her way – you don’t have to do anything, just show up and spout some cryptic bullshit or some-”

            “I don’t have time for that!” Len yelled. 

            “It would just take another hour, Len, it’s not like you’re leaving –”

            “I promised I’d be back in an hour,” he said, “look, Lisa, I’m away until further notice, OK?  I don’t care what you tell them, but until –”

            “It’s not gonna kill him to be away from you for another hour, Len, he’s –”

            “You don’t know that!”

            There was silence on the line.

            “I don’t know that,” Len said.  His heart was suddenly pounding in his throat and his ears were ringing.  His voice was ragged.

            “What do you mean you don’t know that?”

            He was dizzy, was suddenly dizzy, and he pressed a fist against his forehead, willing it to stop.

            “Len, what are you talking about?”  He didn’t say anything, and she repeated, softer this time, “Len, what happened?”

            “I don’t know, Lis,” he said, and his voice was dangerously close to cracking.  “I… he’s not doing well.  He’s really not doing well.”

            “Is he hurt?”

            “No.”

            There was another beat.  “Oh.”

            There was silence on the line.  Len could hear his own breathing, ragged, too fast.  “He weighs a hundred and thirty seven pounds,” Len blurted out.

            “That sounds low.”

            “It’s forty pounds too low.”

            Lisa paused.  “Did you tell his doctor?”

            “No.”

            Len pressed his hand against his face.  He hadn’t told her.  God, what if something happened?  What if he had a heart attack, what if he collapsed again, what if this was doing irreparable damage he didn’t know about?

            “Well, then I think that would probably be the next step.”

            “I can’t tell her.”

            The look on his face, the desperation.  _I just wanna die._   No, he couldn’t.  He couldn’t tell her.  Did he really mean it?  Had he really meant it?  Had he just said it to make him stop? But the look on his face, the way he’d been acting, and the only other time, when he was hurt, when he was hurt and terrified and they needed to do something painful, _I wanna die, leme die._   What if he did make it worse, what if it did make him worse and then he couldn’t, what if he did it, what if he –

            “Len – hello, Len?”

             “I can’t tell her,” he said.

            He needed to.  He should be.  One hundred thirty seven pounds.  He had almost passed out.  What was he doing, what the fuck was he doing?

            “Why not?”

            “She’ll put him on an IV,” Len said.  And he felt trapped.  For a second he thought he knew just how Barry felt, because he was terrified of telling Caitlin, terrified that she’d do it anyway, even if he explained, terrified of not doing anything but terrified of asking what she thought was best only for her to insist on the IV, for that choice to be taken away, terrified that Barry wasn’t just upset and trying to make him agree not to tell her when he said that.

            “I know he doesn’t like them, but that might be best, right?  He’s not eating?”

            “No.”

            “Then maybe that’s what you have to do.  Tell him he has to eat or he’s getting the IV.”

            “He’s trying.”

            “Len –”

            “He said he wanted to die.”

            The line was silent again.  Len was breathing too fast, could feel his hands shaking, ears ringing again, what was he doing?

            “I’m scared he’s going to kill himself, Lis,” he said, and there was a drop on his pants, where he was hunched over, a drop and then another as it slid down his face, off his chin.  His voice was wavering.  Barry was going to die, going to die from malnutrition if he didn’t tell Caitlin, going to commit suicide if he did, Len’s fault either way.  And even if he didn’t, he hadn’t said it was the IV, he hadn’t said this while he was in pain, he said it hurt now, he said he was so miserable now, said he wanted to die now.  “I’m terrified he’s going to kill himself if we make him get the IV,” Len said, and his voice cracked.  He choked back another wash of fear.  “I’m terrified he’s going to kill himself anyway.”

            There was a pause.  “I’m coming over.”

 

 

 

 

 

            “Hey, Scarlet, I’m – Lisa needs my help with something, and I’m gonna be a bit later, OK?  I’m – I’m really sorry, Scarlet, I’ll be there as soon as I can, OK – no more than a couple hours, just – will you be OK?”  Len pressed the base of his hand against his forehead.  He had a pounding headache and his words were stilted awkwardly, the anxiety trickling in even as he tried to keep it out of his voice.

            “Yeah, I’ll be OK,” Barry said.  “I – Iris is here.  But… you’ll be back in another couple hours?  You’ll… you’ll be back before dinner, right?”

            “Yeah, I’ll be back before dinner,” Len said.  He hesitated.  “You – you’re sure you’ll be OK?  I – I’ll come if you need –”

            “I really would like you here,” Barry said, “but I don’t need you here right now.  I’m… I think I’m feeling a little better today.”

            Len felt a wash of relief.  “That’s – that’s great, Scarlet, I’m… that’s great.  I’m so happy you’re feeling better.”

            “I mean… I still… I don’t feel good.  But I… I feel better than yesterday.”

            “OK,” Len said, “well that’s still good, that means you’re on the right track.  I’m so happy you’re starting to feel better, even if it’s just a little.”

            “Yeah, so – you’ll be back in a couple hours.”

            “Yeah,” Len said, “but – I’ll have my phone.  If you – if anything changes just –”

            “I’ll call you,” Barry said.  “But, Len?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Are you OK?”

            Len felt a jolt.  “Yeah,” he said, “I’m fine.  Why – I’m fine, Barry.”

            “OK,” Barry said.  “You sound kind of all over the place.”

            “Yeah, just – it’s Lisa.  I’m fine.  I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

            “OK,” Barry said, “I just… I thought it might be the dentist appointment.”

            Fuck, the dentist appointment.  The fucking dentist appointment.  Len let out a groan.  The headache got worse.  He didn’t need this right now, he really, really didn’t fucking need this.

            “I forgot all about that,” Len said, “I’ll cancel it.”

            “What – why would you cancel it?”

            “Because you’re not doing well.”

            “That’s not until Friday.”

            “It’s Wednesday, Barry.”

            “Don’t cancel it.  Even if I can’t go with you, you still need to go.”

            “I’ll reschedule it,” Len said.  “This is more important, Barry.”

            “No, you don’t get to say that to me.  Not after you wouldn’t let me cancel my therapy appointment because you had a dentist appointment.”

            Len let out an exasperated noise.  “That is not the same thing, Barry.  This can be easily rescheduled.”

            “Don’t cancel it.  You need to go.  You know putting things off won’t help, you tell me it often enough.”

            “Barry, this isn’t the same.  You’ve been doing very, very poorly and it is wonderful that you’re feeling better, but it’s in two days, and I’m getting sedated.  That means I’m basically out of commission for the entire day.”

            “I might feel better by then,” Barry said quietly.  He swallowed hard.  “I… I’m hoping I’ll feel better by then.”

            “I am too, Scarlet,” Len said, “but it’s two days, Barry, I don’t want –”

            “Don’t cancel it.”

            Len let out a frustrated sigh.  “We’ll talk about it later.  I’ll be there as soon as I can, OK?  I love you.”

            “I love you too,” Barry said, “I’ll see you soon.”

            “See you soon, bye.”

            Len stared at the phone, hung up, and threw it at the couch.  Lisa watched him.  She did not look impressed.

            “You have a dentist appointment Friday?” she asked.

            “One I’m fucking canceling,” Len said, and then proceeded to go get the phone he had just thrown and dial the number of the dental office.  He canceled the appointment, told them he’d reschedule later, and hung up before they could try to get him to pick a date then.

            “You should probably schedule that now,” Lisa said.

            Len sent her a murderous look, then clenched his hands to fists and walked away.  “I can’t fucking deal with this too right now,” he said.

            Lisa didn’t press the subject.  She could see how fraught Len was, and when it came to his teeth, it was a very difficult conversation to have when he was in a good mood.  If anything, she would only make it worse by talking about it now.

            “I think you need a break from Barry,” she said.

            Len spun on his heel and gave her a look like she was crazy.  “What the hell gave you that idea?”

            “Well, it might be the fact that you were _crying_ over the –”

            “I wasn’t crying,” Len said, pacing, hands jittery, feeling jittery, feeling like what he really wanted to do was go to the nearest bar, smash a bottle over some random person’s head, and get into a fight with them.  “And why do you think that would solve anything, I don’t even want to be here, Lisa, every minute I’m away is worse, I need to see him, I need to be there to make sure he’s alright, I –”

            “See, that,” Lisa said, waving her hand around, “is why you need a break.  Take a deep breath, Lenny.  You’re going in circles.  Barry is fine.  He’s with his sister, and he just told you he was feeling better.  He’s fine, Len.  He’s fine.”

            Len was still angry, angry at Lisa for demanding he wait until she got there, then demanding he stay and talk to her, angry at himself for being so distraught he had agreed.  But he took a deep breath, tried to calm down, tried to slow his racing heartbeat.  He put aside the anger long enough to actually listen to what she was saying. 

            The logical side of his brain grasped at that.  He was with Iris.  He just called.  Said he was feeling better.  And if he was well enough to argue with him about the stupid dentist appointment then he was probably telling the truth about it too.  It was a couple hours.  Len could be apart from him for a couple hours.  He was feeling better.  Iris was there.  He’d call him if he started feeling worse.  Len realized the chances of anything actually happening while he wasn’t there was slim.  It didn’t mean he still didn’t want to go see him.

            But he slumped onto the couch, sat down, head in his hands for a moment before looking up again.  Lisa was staring at him with a frown.

            “You’re doing it again,” she said quietly.  Len closed his eyes.  He knew what was coming.  It was the old argument, their old argument, over again.  “You can’t just ignore your own stress, Lenny.  It won’t just go away if you refuse to acknowledge it.”

            And damn it, he knew that, but he didn’t have time to acknowledge it, didn’t have time to work through it, to allow himself to get scared, to be upset, and then to relax again.

            “What do you want me to do, Lisa?” he said.  “I can’t just leave him,” he said, looking up again.  “He’s been bad, Lisa.  He’s been really bad.”

            “So do it now,” she said, “he’s doing better.  You have a couple hours.  Relax, Len.”

            “I can’t relax,” he said, “what the fuck am I supposed to do Lisa?  He weighs a hundred thirty seven pounds.  He almost passed out yesterday.  He can hardly walk up the stairs.  He needs an IV and I’m terrified something is going to happen to him because he doesn’t have it and I’m terrified that if we try to force him to get it he’s going to get worse, or he’ll be so scared and so miserable that he’ll just decide it’s not worth it and –”

            He sucked in a breath, closed his eyes.  He counted to ten, then to twenty.  Then to fifty.  A hundred.

            Lisa waited.  She knew what he was doing.  She waited until he opened his eyes again.

            “Just because he said he wanted to die,” Lisa said slowly, “does not mean he’s planning on killing himself.  Those are not the same thing.”

            “Yeah, well one still tends to preclude the other,” Len bit out.

            “He’s depressed, Len,” Lisa said, “you never thought about this?  Thought about the possibility that he could be suicidal?  Or was, at some point?”

            “Of course I thought about it,” Len said, “I just… he was doing better.  He was doing a lot better and… I can’t think about him like that, Lis.  It’s… before, he said… he told me he didn’t want to die now.  And I… he was doing better.”

            “I think you need to talk to him about this,” Lisa said, “for both your sakes’.”

            “How do I bring up a conversation like that, Lis?  Hey, you said you wanted to die, and it really freaked me out, and you’re not actually suicidal, are you?”

            “That sounds like a pretty good opening to me.”

            Len shook his head.  “I can’t – I just… I don’t know Lisa, I just…”  He trailed off, before looking back up.  His voice was thin, soft.  “I can’t lose him, Lis.”

            Lisa shook her head.  “You really fell for this one, didn’t you Lenny?”

            Len didn’t even try to argue.  Just shook his head and brought his hands up to his face again.  “I just want him to be OK,” Len said.  His voice was still quiet.  “He doesn’t deserve this.  He doesn’t deserve any of this, I wish I could just take it from him.  I just want him to be OK.”

            “Oh, Lenny,” Lisa said, and she sighed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

            Len went back, but only after Lisa made him swear he would bring it up with Barry, and take some time for himself as soon as possible.  Barry was quiet, latching onto him again, but the worrying signs he had been observing for the past couple days were fading.  Although Barry was still curling into him, wanted him with him at all times, he no longer watched him every time he got up.  He didn’t tense when Len left him.  The deep look of pain was absent from his face as well.  He still looked pretty bad, but that deep misery was gone.  He didn’t constantly want to sleep, either.  He was still tired – too tired, but he wasn’t begging for naps anymore.  And he was eating more.

            He still didn’t want calorie bars.  He could still only manage a couple bites of anything with the calorie powder, but he was eating real meals again, albeit small ones.  Len stayed that night, but the next day, Thursday, Barry said he wanted to go to Len’s.  It was the first time he left the house in almost four days.

            Len didn’t bring it up.  There was a tentative calm over Barry, the beginnings of coming back from this episode, and Len was half afraid to trigger a relapse, half just afraid of the answer.  He focused on getting Barry eating instead.

            They were having dinner when there was a knock on the door.  Barry was actually eating, looked like he might even finish his plate.  Len started to stand when they heard the knock, but before he could get to the door it opened.  Mick stepped inside.  He was carrying two cases of beer.

            “I got the valium,” he said, kicking off his shoes as he placed the beer onto the counter.  “Said 10 milligrams is the doc’s top dose.  I got you 40.”

            Mick looked up, just catching the surprised expression on Len’s face.

            “What?” he said.

            Barry looked at Len.  He had told him he had canceled the appointment.  Barry had been upset, told him he didn’t have to, that he shouldn’t have, but Len had dismissed his concerns, changing the subject, saying he’d reschedule it later.

            “I canceled the appointment, Mick,” Len said.

            Mick looked at Barry.  “Lis said you weren’t doing great.  You OK now?”

            Barry nodded, looking from Len to Mick.  “Yeah, I’m feeling better.”

            “You still OK to come tomorrow?”

            “Mick, I canceled –” Len started.

            “Yeah, I’m definitely good enough for that,” Barry said, and then to Len, “I’m OK.  I won’t stay for it, but I can go in with you.”

            “What – I appreciate that, Scarlet, but I canceled the appointm-”

            “Yeah, about that,” Mick said.  He handed Len a beer.  “You should probably take a drink of that.”  Len held the bottle stiffly, his eyes hard on Mick.  Mick shrugged.  He opened up his own.  “Anyway, about that.  I told them not to cancel the appointment if you called.”

            “ _What?_ ”

            Mick turned to Barry, another beer held out.  “You want one?”

            “Won’t do anything – speedster metabolism.”

            Mick grimaced and took it back.

            “I’m _sorry_ , what did you do, Mick?” Len said.  His voice practically growled.  “Because I must have heard that wrong.”

            “You still have the appointment,” Mick said, “I told them to keep the spot unless me or Lisa called.”

            “Lisa knew about this?”

            “Yes,” Mick said.  He pointed to the beer.  “You should really start drinking that.”

            Len slammed it down onto the table.  He stood up, hands leaning forward onto it.  “You had better call them right fucking _now_ , then, Mick, because I’m not going _anywhere_.”

            “Look, Len, just –”

            “What the fuck were you thinking?” Len yelled.  “Why the fuck do you think you have the right to –”

            “Well, I was thinking you were going to cancel,” Mick said.

            “Because I’m not fucking going!”

            Mick changed tactics.  He fished around in his jacket pocket before producing a bottle of pills.  “Take three,” he said, “if it’s not enough, you can take the fourth later, but you should really start with three.”  He held the bottle out.

            Len smacked it out of his hand.  The bottle went skittering across the floor, but thankfully didn’t break open.  Barry watched with growing alarm.

            “Len –” he said.

            “I’m a fucking adult, Mick, you have no fucking right to go behind my back and –”

            “Oh, come on, Len, when was the last time you went to anything without canceling at least three times beforehand?  It’s not gonna help, boss, you know it never does.  I know stuff was goin on with the kid but –”

            “I’m not going,” Len said.  He tried to take a few deep breaths, to calm himself down.  He sat down abruptly.  He wasn’t going.  Mick couldn’t make him, and he calmed at that.  He needed to get a grip on himself again. 

            He felt a hand on his arm to find Barry looking at him, eyes wide.  “Len,” he said.

            “I’m sorry,” he said, still forcing the anger down.  He was not a child.  Mick and his sister could not just trick him and drag him to his appointments.  He looked back at Mick.  “I’m not going.”

            Mick had that look.  Len’s muscles tightened again.  “Look, boss, I know you weren’t expecting it after that, but if you do it now it’ll be over with.  Just take the pills.  I got the good stuff this time – you’ll be high as a kite, Snart.”

            “I’m not going,” Len said.  He stood up again, going to clear his plate.  His movements were mechanical, automatic.  Mick picked up the bottle of pills and placed it in front of him when he came back.

            “Len,” Barry said.

            “Go home, Mick,” Len said, “I’m not going tomorrow.  I’ll reschedule it later.”

            “Like you rescheduled the cleaning?  Because I gave you months for that, boss, and –”

            “I’m not going, Mick,” Len said, “I canceled the appointment, I decided I wasn’t going, and now I’m not.”

            “Len –”

            “I don’t do surprises,” Len said, his voice coming out in a hiss, some of that anger back.  He fought to cap it off.  But Mick knew, Mick _knew_.  He had to know ahead of time, he had to know what was going on, and he had canceled the appointment, and now he wasn’t prepared to go in tomorrow, _tomorrow_ , Jesus he couldn’t go in tomorrow, not when he was just finding this out now.  He had already settled into the idea of not going, had already relaxed – Mick couldn’t just spring this on him now.

            “’S not a surprise when we made the appointment two weeks ago.”

            “It’s a week and a half,” Len bit out.  “And I canceled it.  I already –”  He took a deep breath.  He’d already decided he wasn’t going, he’d already accepted that he wasn’t going, already taken comfort, found the overwhelming _relief_ that he wasn’t going – “I’m not going, Mick,” he said.

            “You have to get it fixed anyway,” Mick said, “you might as well get it done now.  The longer you wait the worse it’s gonna get.”

            Len’s fingers gripped around the edge of the counter.  He very deliberately turned on the faucet of the sink, and put his plate under it.  He didn’t know if Mick had meant the anxiety would get worse or the tooth would get worse, but he couldn’t help thinking of the tooth.  His hands started to shake and his breathing was too fast.  _The longer you wait the worse it’s gonna get._   The cavity would get worse, was getting worse every day, eventually the tooth would be unsalvageable, eventually it would need to be pulled out.

            He scrubbed a sponge over the plate.  He never did the dishes by hand – he had a dishwasher right next to him, but he moved the sponge over it anyway, in jerky circles.

            But no, no, first there would be crowns, then if he waited long enough it would be pulled.  Drilling around the tooth, reducing it to a small fragment, drilling all the way around.  But if he waited long enough they’d just pull it out.  Fingers against his jaw, acidic taste of metal against his tongue.  His Dad is reading the newspaper, not even looking at him and he wants to scream but Dad told him to stay still and Lisa is watching him.  His jaw is aching – can’t breathe, can’t breathe – latching on, a cling of metal against tooth, a tug, and then pain _be still be still don’t move don’t move_ his eyes are squeezed shut, hands clenched, fingernails digging into his palms _don’t move don’t scream_ it hurts _don’t scream_ Lisa’s watching _don’t move_ it hurts, it _hurts!_ pulling, hand against his jaw _he said don’t move don’t move_ it hurts bright white pain and _no, no, stop it hurts!_ His hands scrabble, tear at the man’s arms, he can’t stop he screams –

            Len was halfway into the bedroom before he even realized he had moved.  He was shaking.  He felt lightheaded.  He walked into the room and promptly sat down on the bed, head in his hands.  _It’s a fucking baby tooth, stop crying._   Len’s head pounded, and he tried to take deep breaths, knew he was panicking, knew he just needed to breathe.  _I told you not to fucking move._   But he could still taste the metal in his mouth, could still taste the plyers in his mouth.  He remembered Lisa crying, hiding behind the couch.  He could still feel the sting of the slap across his face.  _Stop being a little bitch about it._  

            “Len,” Barry said.  He moved into the room carefully, taking in Len’s shaking form on the bed.  Len didn’t look up when he said his name.

            He didn’t get it, Mick didn’t get it, Len couldn’t do this now, couldn’t handle it on top of the stress of taking care of Barry, of worrying about him, of wondering what it was he really meant with those words.  He couldn’t spring things on him like this.  Len tried to breathe, and it was shaky, so shaky.  He wanted to cry.  And then he wanted to refuse to see the fucking dentist for another three months, just because Mick tried to make him, just to prove a point.  He was in charge, he was in control.  It was his body, his teeth.  They were _his_ , damnit.

            “Len,” Barry said, and Len felt a hand on his face, then two.  They were gentle, so gentle, and it made Len want to cry.  He followed their movement up and found Barry looking back at him.  One hand slipped down, onto his neck.  The other stayed on the side of his face, on his cheek.  “It’s OK,” Barry said.  “It’s OK.”

            Len licked his lips.  His mouth felt horribly dry.  He tried to speak but nothing came out, and he wasn’t sure what he was even trying to say.

            Barry was rubbing a line across the back of his neck.  He felt it, back and forth, back and forth, the pad of a finger, his thumb, probably.  A lump settled in his throat and he breathed, in and out, in and out.  His hands stopped shaking.  He could still taste the metal.

            He got up abruptly.  Barry startled, then followed him out.  Mick was sitting in a chair at the kitchen table.  He stood when Len entered.  Len moved right by him, to the beer still on the counter.  He opened one, and took a hard gulp.  The alcohol masked the metal taste for a moment, washing it away.

            It was back a second later.  He went for the whiskey instead.

            “Uh, Len,” Mick said, watching as Len retrieved it from the cabinet.  He’d burn away the metal taste.  “Len, you really can’t have that with the pills, boss.”

            _I’m not going,_ Len thought, then thought about taking the pills anyway.  “I can taste it,” he said.

            “Len,” Barry said, and his hand was on his arm, loose but insistent.  “Len.”  Len looked over.  “What do you taste?” he asked.

            “Metal,” Len said.  He reached for a glass and Barry took the whiskey and moved it away.  Len paused.  “Barry,” he said.

            Barry was gone in a second, a rush of wind, and he took the damn whiskey with him.  He was back in a second though, and he shoved a small box of something into his hand.  Len looked down, anger overridden with confusion for a second before he realized what it was.

            “Gum?” he said.

            “Probably work better than alcohol anyway,” Barry said, “if it’s the taste.”

            Len opened it up and took out a piece.  He put it in his mouth only for the crashing taste of mint to slide over his tongue.

            Well, it worked.  He still wanted the whiskey.

            He turned to Mick.  “I’m not going tomorrow,” he said.

            Mick sighed.  “Just take the pills, Snart.  I know you’re scared, but it’ll stop seeming so bad as soon as the pills kick in.”

            Len walked away again.  He went back to his room, shut the door, and sat down on the bed.  He felt like taking a shower, but didn’t get up.  He thought about calling Lisa.

            There was a knock on the door.  When Len didn’t say anything, it opened a moment later.  Barry stuck his head in, and then walked over.  He had the bottle of pills in his hand, a water bottle under one arm, which he set on the nightstand.  He kept holding the pills though.

            “You know, I’d kill to be able to take these sometimes,” Barry said.

            Len looked up slowly, felt a slow run of guilt at the words, and a little bit of anger for Barry putting him in that position. He knew he was lucky to have the pills – to have the option of sedation open to him, when Barry didn’t.  That didn’t mean it was a walk in the park.  It didn’t mean he didn’t still struggle, still get scared, still have to deal with the anxiety and panic at all.

            “I know,” Len said.  It must have come out in his tone because Barry looked up again quickly.

            “I didn’t –”  He shut his mouth, then opened it again.  “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to compare my situation to yours.  I just…”  He huffed, trailing off.  “I meant that it’s a tool, and you should take advantage of it,” he said finally.

            “I’m not going tomorrow,” Len said.

            “Why not?” Barry asked.  He looked at Len, eyes unflinching.

            “Because I cancelled it,” Len said.

            “But it’s not actually cancelled,” Barry said.

            “I thought it was.”  Len swallowed.  “I thought it was canceled.  I relaxed.  I didn’t… I didn’t prepare myself for it.”

            “I don’t think there’s much you can really do to prepare yourself,” Barry said, “I know it sucks having things thrown at you – I know it feels overwhelming when something has to happen soon…”

            And of course he did, he had to all the time.  Len swallowed.  He knew where this was going.  If it was Barry, he’d want him to get it done.  He’d tell him not to wait, that the wait just made it worse.  And he understood that fear, the lack of control, the feeling of having his choices taken away from him.  And he knew Barry knew how that felt too, and yet he was still arguing it.

            “You said it was better when you didn’t think about it,” Barry said.  He toyed with the bottle of pills in his hand.  “So why not just not think about it?”  He looked up again.  “You could just take the pills,” Barry said, “just take them and not think about the appointment.  We can watch a movie.  Tomorrow you can take more.”  He opened up the bottle, and looked inside, where the pills were.  They were yellow tablets, eight of them.  “Mick made it sound like they were pretty strong,” Barry said.

            Len looked at the bottle for a while, and then held out his hand.  Barry handed it to him, and Len looked inside.  Yellow ones.  That meant five milligrams each – Mick wasn’t lying.

            “There’s eight of them,” Len said, “that means four at night and four again for the morning.  I’ve never had that much before.”

            “How much have you had before?” Barry asked.

            “Two,” Len said.  “I usually have two.  Ten milligrams. It’s generally the highest prescribed dose.”

            “Mick said to try three first, right?” Barry said.

            Len stared at them.  “It might be enough for the night,” he said, “they put me to sleep pretty fast.”  He kept looking at them.  “I don’t know about the morning.”

            “Well, you can always try three at night, and take four in the morning if it’s not enough,” Barry said.  “I’ll stay when you take them.  I won’t let anything happen to you while you’re out of it.”

            “I hate taking drugs,” Len said.  He kept looking at the bottle in his hands.  “I don’t really love alcohol either.  Mick and Lisa drink a fair amount, but I usually just have one beer, sometimes a couple shots.  I don’t like being incapacitated.”

            “I won’t let anything happen to you while you take them,” Barry said, his voice quiet.

            “What if I’m worried something will happen to you?”

            Barry blinked.  “I’ll be fine,” he said, “I think the city can go one night without the Flash.  I’ll stay with you.”

            “I didn’t mean from anyone else.”

            Barry frowned.  “I’m OK,” he said.  “I can take care of you for one night.  You said you’d probably just sleep, anyway, right?  If I need someone I’ll call Iris.  You don’t have to take care of me 24/7, Len.”

            _But I do_.  “I just worry about you,” Len said.  _Like if you’ll eat.  Or try to hurt yourself.  (Kill yourself)_. 

            “I’m feeling better,” Barry said.

            _How much is better?_   There was too much in between, too much gray area between when Barry was rock bottom won’t move won’t talk lying in bed and Barry when the depression and the PTSD and the phobias were all absent, all just an outline in the background.

            “I’m not going tomorrow,” Len said.

            “I really think you should.”  Len closed his eyes.  Barry had a hand around his shoulder again, kept moving his thumb across the back of Len’s neck again, back and forth, back and forth, a slow steady line.  “If it was me you would tell me to go,” Barry said.

            And there it was.  Len shook his head.  “If it was you it be a five,” he said, “you’d get to pick when you had it done.  There’s no time constraint, as long as I don’t wait months.”

            “You’d still tell me to get it done early,” Barry said, “you’d tell me it would be better to just get it over with.”

            “I can’t go right now,” Len said.

            “Why not?”

             “I can hardly deal with this when I’m calm – when nothing’s going on, when we’re just laying low or doing early planning.  I can’t – I’m too strung up right now, Barry.”

            Barry frowned.  “What do you mean?”

            Len let out a huff.  “The last few days haven’t exactly been easy, Scarlet.”

            The frown deepened on Barry’s face.  “Because of me?  From… from taking care of me?”

            Len let out a sigh, leaning his head forward until his forehead touched Barry’s.  He stayed there for a second, and then leaned back again.  “It’s not your fault, Scarlet,” he said, “but it is stressful.”

            “I’m sorry,” Barry said.

            “You don’t have to be sorry,” Len said.  “I’d do it a hundred times over if that’s what you needed – wanted.  But it… it’s hard to watch you like that Barry.  And it’s hard to know what to do.”

            “You always do what’s best,” Barry said.

            _No, I really don’t think I do._   Len shook his head, tilting it back down, looking down.

            “Hey,” Barry said, and he ducked his head, waited until Len looked back up.  “You always help,” he said, “you always seem to know what to do.  Maybe it doesn’t seem like that to you, when you’re trying to figure it out, but… you always seem to know what I need… what will make it better, easier.  And… thank you.”

            “You don’t need to thank me,” Len said, “I want to help you.  I want to.  Barry, I…”  He looked at Barry, at his eyes, open, waiting, and he didn’t know how to explain, how to tell him that he loved him, that he loved him more than he thought he ever could love someone, that there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for him, and that scared him, yet the feeling was overpowering, that he would do anything, anything for Barry.  “I love you,” he said, and it wasn’t enough, wasn’t nearly enough.  “I love you, Barry.  And I will never, ever not want to help you.”

            “But it’s stressful,” Barry said.

            And Len sighed.  “Yeah,” he said.  Barry nodded.  “I worry about you,” Len said.

            “I’m sorry you’ve been feeling stressed,” Barry said, “I… I guess I don’t really think too much about how it affects other people… I mean… I knew I was being difficult, and that was probably pretty annoying to put up with, but I didn’t…”

            “It wasn’t annoying,” Len said, “frustrating, but not annoying.  And I wasn’t frustrated at you.  I know you were trying.  But the situation was frustrating.”

            Barry nodded.  “Yeah… I guess I just… I mean if you were… if you were feeling that bad I’d be stressed too, I guess I just didn’t think about it like that.”

            “It’s OK,” Len said.

            “I still think you should go tomorrow.”

            Len groaned.  “Barry –”

            “I know you’ve been tense,” Barry said, “and I know how that can make it seem worse, make it seem impossible, but I’m pretty sure your fear is bad enough that it’s going to surpass tense anyway.  Extra stress only makes it worse until the fear surpasses that level of stress.  Plus, you have drugs.”

            “You sound like some kind of philosopher,” Len muttered.

            Barry gave him a small, lopsided smile.  “I was trying to say it won’t make it worse.  It could have made it worse a few days ago, thinking about it, because that’s stress on top of stress.  But this – now when it’s so close – I don’t think it’ll really make it worse.”

            “I don’t know if I agree with you on that,” Len said.

            “I really think you should just get it over with,” Barry said.  He looked down, and then took a deep breath.  “I don’t know if I’ll stay OK, Len,” he said.  “I… I mean I hope I do, but… there could always be something.  And I’m… I’m OK right now.  I’m not great, but I’m OK, so if it’s really… if the stress is really because of me, then maybe it would be better to get it done now.  Because you don’t know I won’t get worse again by the time you reschedule the appointment.”

            _But you’ve never said you wanted to die before,_ Len thought.  At least when he wasn’t in an a fair amount of pain, terrified and half out of it.  This was new, he wanted to say.  This was terrifying.

            Len took a deep breath though.  He had a point.  Even if… even if this was something, if something was wrong and Barry had meant it… he was doing OK now.  He was doing OK now and Len didn’t know how long that would last, if this was a brief respite or if he was going to come back from it and be more or less fine for another month or two.  And he had to have it done, needed to have it done while it was still small, while it was still not a big deal, and if Barry got worse… trying to schedule one, trying to make it work… He didn’t want to have to deal with that – didn’t want the dual worry of Barry getting worse while he wasn’t there and the tooth getting so bad it had to be pulled, or needed a crown, or even was just more extensive –

            He took a deep breath.  Better to stop that line of thinking now.

            Len looked down at the bottle in his hands, the cap still off.  He looked back up.

            “Mick said to take three?”

            Barry nodded, surprise in his eyes even as a bit of triumph, pride, love, flashed through them too.  Len grimaced down at the pills. 

            “I’m taking four.”


	8. Criminals Rob Banks, Evil People Become Dentists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so as a note, I am officially claiming Earth 14. This is Earth 14. Unless someone else has already claimed Earth 14, in which case please let me know so I can designate a new Earth. But for now, I have claimed the Earth 14 universe. 
> 
> WARNING Anyway, additional warnings, because I can't seem to keep anything simple, this chapter could be triggering for bulimia. That being said, there is not actual bulimia in this chapter (or this fic... well, at least I'm not planning on there being) but if you are very sensitive to that, you may not want to read. If you need more details, comment and I'll let you know, but it's hard to explain without just telling you what happens. 
> 
> So, happy reading, hope you like it, we're taking a break from torturing Barry and are torturing Len instead wooo!

            Four was a lot.

            Unfortunately, it didn’t start kicking in for another half hour, and didn’t really fully hit him until more like an hour had passed.  And that first half hour was hell.

            He was doing it, was actually doing it, was going to let them put him out and drill into his skull, oh God, what the fuck was he doing, what was he thinking?  After taking the pills he almost immediately stood up.  Barry jumped up, surprised, and watched as Len started to pace.  Then he grabbed his phone, and started typing away.

            “Lisa will come over tomorrow,” Len said, and then he looked up.  “I’m telling her to make sure you eat.”

            Barry scowled.  “I don’t need a babysitter, Len.”

            “It will make me feel better,” he said, almost snapped.  Barry shut his mouth.  He supposed he could put up with Lisa’s fussing if it really gave Len piece of mind.

            “Mick will bring the gun,” Len said, “and he’ll –”  He sucked in a breath.  “He’ll stay in the room with me,” he said, “even though I’m out – especially because I’m out, but you –”  He paused again.  “Will you stay in the waiting room?  While it happens?  Until I’m done?”

            “Yeah,” Barry said, his tone softening.  “Of course.”

            “OK,” Len said.  He ran a hand over his head.  “And you’re going to go in with me?  Do you think you could go all the way into the room?  Just – just to get me there.  And then you can go back to the waiting room before they do the IV.”

            “Yeah, I can do that,” Barry said.

            “OK,” Len said.  He continued pacing.  “You can stay over tomorrow?”

            “Yeah,” Barry said, “I told Singh I’d be back starting Monday.  I can stay the whole weekend if you want me to.”

            Len shook his head.  “Just – tomorrow.  Maybe Saturday.”

            Holy fuck, he was actually going to let someone drill holes into his jaw, what the fuck was he doing?  Len started to sweat, could feel it running down the back of his neck, side of his face.  His hands were shaking.  They were going to put him out.  He wouldn’t remember anything.  He wouldn’t fucking remember an hour of his life, that was terrifying, why was he doing this?  Why in the world had he let them talk him into this?  They could rip his tooth out and he wouldn’t even know until afterwards.

            “Len – hey, Len,” Barry said, getting up, “why don’t you come sit down?”

            Len shook his head.  No, he couldn’t sit down.  He most definitely could not sit down.  He had to move, had to keep moving, had to keep doing something or it would consume him.

            He paced.  The fear was bubbling, climbing up his throat, tightening.  He hated the feeling.  Like he was twelve years old again and bracing for the next blow.  The dread was swirling in his stomach.  It was tomorrow, _tomorrow_.  He felt sick.  It washed over him in a wave, the final realization, this was happening, and it was happening tomorrow. 

            He stood still, frozen.  His chest felt tight, his throat tighter.  He couldn’t breathe, wasn’t breathing.  He was just waiting for that blow, frozen in place as the fear and dread filled him up.  He was going to drown in it.

            “Len – Len, hey,” Barry said, and suddenly he was right in front of him, gentle hands on his face, either side.  “Len, it’s OK.  Hey, it’s OK.”

            He walked back to the bed.  Barry led him, then gently urged him to sit down.  He sat stiffly, and Barry wrapped his arms around him.

            “It’s OK,” Barry said, “it’s gonna be OK.”

            Len sat frozen, tensed and upright, for the next twenty minutes.  Barry kept repeating reassurances to him, kept telling him it would be fine, that he was fine.  Len barely heard it.  He was frozen.  He was scared, and that dread made him feel like stone, weighed down and frozen solid.  He didn’t want to do this, he didn’t want to.  It was like watching a knife headed for him, like that one time he had fucked up and gotten himself kidnapped, when they tied him to a chair and dug a knife into his thigh, pulled out one fingernail, then two.  He hadn’t screamed. 

            Mick got him out only a few hours after they had taken him, and they hadn’t actually been interrogating him for more than an hour, probably closer to half.  He hadn’t had the words then, when Mick took one look at him and said “Jesus, Snart, the fuck are you on?  That had to hurt like hell.”  He hadn’t had the words, didn’t know how to tell him that he had been petrified the moment he saw the plyers comes out, the moment they pinned his hand down, knew the pain was coming, knew it would be bad.  His stomach had twisted and his skin went cold and he spit out some line to his captors but he was already sinking.  He didn’t know how to explain that he hadn’t been silent during the whole thing because he was tough, or had a high pain tolerance, or even was used to it.  He hadn’t been able to make a sound.  He had been frozen.

            And it felt like that, it felt like watching them take out the plyers, felt like having his hand pinned down.  He knew it was coming, knew it would be bad, and that dread, that sick dread of the inevitable, it was tightening around his throat.  He knew how Barry felt when they were getting ready to set bones, when he had to just sit there, knowing it was coming, and there was nothing he could do – knowing it was going to be awful, agonizing, and he had to go through it anyway.

            When they got back to the safe house after Mick shot his captors, Lisa had been waiting.  She had been staying with them for a few days, and she had been more upset about the whole thing really than Len had.  Even while Len was waking up from unconsciousness, he had known Mick would be looking for him, would find him.  He had been with him when he was taken.  It was just a waiting game, really.  He had taken one step in the door and Lisa had grabbed his hand, where he had wrapped his fingers up in a dirty rag.  She had looked up and said to him, “they tortured you.”

            He couldn’t remember now exactly how he had responded.  It had been a long time ago.  Lisa was still a teenager then – fifteen, sixteen?  He wasn’t sure.  He had probably just shrugged.  It wasn’t like it was the worst he had ever endured.

            But the memory was there, and it wasn’t really until after, weeks, maybe months after that the feeling kept creeping up on him, that same dread, the fear and the knowing that it was going to happen.  It crept into his nightmares, found purchase in his racing thoughts.

            It was the same feeling, as Barry held him, as he sat frozen.  It was going to happen, he horribly didn’t want it to, and there wasn’t really anything he could do about it.  And then there was the irrational panic thrown into the mix too.  At least sitting in that chair, tied up, he had good reason to be afraid.

            “Len, it’s OK,” Barry said.  He was rubbing at the back of his neck again, arms around him.  “It’s going to be OK.”  His voice was smooth, soft.  “You’re going to be fine.  I’ll be there with you.  It’s OK.”

            The medication started to kick in about a half hour after he took it.  Len found his heartrate slowing, his breathing evening out, and the frozen, tensed feeling abated.  He shifted, let Barry wrap his arms around him as he leaned against the headboard of the bed, holding him.  He could feel himself slipping, and he hated that part.

            He could feel his mind slowing, but it wasn’t enough to really calm him yet.  Instead things were just getting jumbled, and the fact that he was aware that he wasn’t thinking as sharply anymore made him panic.  He hated being incapacitated, and without the full calming effects of the drug, it made him even more agitated.

            It didn’t last long though.  Another ten minutes and it seemed to hit him all at once.  Suddenly he realized his body had relaxed, his breathing was even, and his thoughts had started to drift instead of race.

            “How are you feeling?” Barry asked.  Len blinked, forcing himself out of his own thoughts.  He turned a little bit.

            “I don’t know,” he said, his voice soft.

            “Better?”

            Len shrugged.  “I can feel it,” he said.

            “The drug?”

            “Mmhm.”

            “Is it helping?”

            “Mm.”

            “You seem calmer.”

            “Yeah.”

            “Do you feel calmer?”

            “I think so.”

            Another ten minutes, and Len was _flying_.

            He was cuddling close to Barry, body feeling tingly and suddenly light.  His thoughts were syrup, slipping by him.  He was warm, and it felt nice, and he turned and buried his face against Barry’s neck, inhaling.

            “You smell nice.”

            “Thank you?”

            “Mmm like flowers.  Lavender.”

            “It’s my shampoo,” Barry said, “Iris got it for me.  She said it was supposed to be calming.”

            “Mm, it’s nice.  I like it.  I like you.”

            “I like you too,” Barry said, smiling.  He loosened his arms to allow Len to shift, settling against his chest, eyes looking up at him.

            “Barry, I’m floating.”

            “You’re - you’re floating?”

            “Yeah.”

            “You mean you feel good?”

            “No, I mean I’m floaty.  Everything’s floaty.  I’m floating.”

            “OK,” Barry said.

            “But I feel good too.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Mmm.  Good.  You’re warm.  I love you.  You and your warmness.  And lavender smell.”

            “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Barry said. 

            Len’s eyes were glazed, his speech was sluggish, and he was still half curled around Barry.  He took his hand then, lacing their fingers together and moving it through the air.

            “I love you,” he said.

            “I love you too,” Barry said.

            “But I really love you.”

            Barry smiled.  “I really love you too.”

            “I feel good.”

            “Yeah?”

            “I feel really good, Barr.  I feel warm and good and I love you and you’re here and that’s good too.  Because I love you.  And you love me.  Which is really, really nice.”

            Barry smiled and Len looked up at him, smiled back, and then kissed his nose.  For a second Barry just stared, a little shocked, and then Len laughed, and then he laughed too.  Len rested his head against his shoulder and closed his eyes.  A few minutes later Barry looked down to find him asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

            The second Len woke up Barry was pressing a glass of water into his hands, the pills between his fingers.  He remembered what Len had been like the night before, before the pills had kicked in, and he didn’t want a repeat.

            Len took it, still looking groggy.  Barry took the glass from him again afterwards and set it back down.

            “Why don’t you just go back to sleep,” Barry said.  Len was starting to look pale again.  He shook his head, and then gripped his arm hard.

            “You’re going too?” he said.

            “Yeah,” Barry said, slipping his free hand to Len’s shoulder.  “I’m going.”

            “You’ll be OK there?”

            “I’m gonna be fine,” Barry said, “You don’t need to worry about me today, OK?  I’m gonna be fine.”

            “You’ll call Iris if you aren’t?” he said, still giving him the same fearful look.  It was not something Barry was used to seeing on him.

            “I’m going to be fine,” Barry said again, “but if anything happens, yes, I’ll call Iris.”

            “Promise?”

            “I promise.”

            “OK,” Len said, but his hands were shaking.

            “It’s OK,” Barry said, “it’s going to be OK.”

            He found himself in the same position as the night before, holding Len as Len fought to keep from hyperventilating, the dread a sick mix in his stomach.  Len wanted to protest, to tell him he changed his mind, he wasn’t going to the dentist appointment.  But he’d already taken the pills, knew that once they kicked in he wouldn’t be able to hold a coherent argument, wouldn’t be able to stop them if he tried to get out of it and they didn’t let him.  The thought set his heart racing, suddenly hyperventilating.

            “Hey,” Barry said, hand sliding over his head.  “What’s wrong?”  He shifted, surprised at the sudden tense lines, how one second Len was taking shaky deep breaths and the next they were coming ragged and fast.

            “Pills,” Len got out.

            “Yeah,” Barry said, “they’ll kick in soon Len.  It’s OK.   Just a little more then you’ll feel better.”

            “No – I – I don’t want them,” Len said, and suddenly he was rising out of Barry’s arms, standing.  He needed them gone, had to get them gone.  He was in the bathroom in another second, and his stomach was already tightening in knots and rolling anyway.  He brought his fingers to his mouth, and before he could really think about it the pad of his index finger was at the back of his throat and he was gagging.

            “Hey, wha- Len!  Stop – Len, no, don’t do that.  Lenny, it’s OK.  It’s OK, don’t do that.”  Barry grabbed at Len’s hands, pulling them down.  Len gagged over the toilet but nothing came up.  It just made his stomach roll more, made his eyes water.  Barry was already pulling him away from the toilet, hands gripping his wrists.  “Len, - Lenny, hey.”  Len met his eyes, and Barry looked lost.  He felt a second of guilt for that, but it was just a flicker under the fear.

            “I don’t want the pills,” Len said.  He could already feel it starting – could feel his mind getting a little hazier.  It only made the panic worse.

            “I don’t understand,” Barry said.

            “They – I c-can’t –”  Len swallowed hard, could feel his voice almost cracking.  He fought back the panic in another swell.  “I can’t think,” he said.

            “Oh,” Barry said, “it’s OK.  I’m right here.  I won’t let anything happen to you.”

            Len shook his head.  But he didn’t want to go, he couldn’t go.  They were going to pull his teeth out, going to fill his mouth with that acidic metal taste, going to pull and pull then pain.

            “Len,” Barry said, cupping the side of his face.  “Len, I’m right here.  Nothing bad is going to happen.  It’s OK.  You’re OK.  Everything is fine.”

            Len shook his head again.

            “Hey, look at me,” Barry said, and Len hadn’t even realized his eyes had wandered, were darting, until he looked back at him again, locked back on those green eyes.  “You’re safe,” Barry said.  “Nothing’s going to hurt, nothing bad is going to happen.  In a little bit, you’ll feel a lot better, and then you’re just going to sleep for a little while, and after that it’ll be all done.”

            Len let Barry bring him back to the bed, sit back down.  He wanted to argue.  He wanted to tell him he wasn’t going.  He wanted to go run now, lock himself up at another safe house, somewhere they wouldn’t find him – maybe he’d hide at Star Labs – they wouldn’t think to look there.  He’d get there while he was still mostly cognizant, and ride out the high of the pills alone, where they wouldn’t find him.  He’d come out again when it was over, when he could think, when they couldn’t force him to go get it done.

            But the longer he sat there the more he didn’t want to leave Barry’s arms.  The more his mind slipped, and his heartrate calmed and his breathing steadied.  The pills were working, and the thoughts started slipping like syrup in his head, the fear still there, but it was so hard to grasp onto, to really make any sense of it.  He didn’t want to go, and he was afraid, but his body didn’t want to move and he never wanted Barry to let go of him.

            Mick knocked around nine.  They needed to leave in a half hour.  Barry managed to get Len to get ready, kept talking the whole time, hoping to distract him.  By the time they were both ready to go the medication was almost at full strength, and it was a relief to Barry as well as Len. 

            Len kept a hold of Barry’s hand when Mick ushered him out of the apartment, down to the Van.

            “I don’t want to go,” Len said.

            “It’s going to be fine,” Barry said.  He had lost track of how many time he had said that already.

            “They’ll pull my teeth out.”

            “They’re not going to pull any of your teeth out.”

            “I hate dentists.”

            “No one like’s the dentists.”

            “No, I hate them personally.  Only evil people become dentists.”

            Mick let out a snort.

            “It’s true!” Len said.

            “We rob banks for a living,” Mick said.

            “Criminals rob banks,” Len said, “Evil people become dentists.”

            If Len wouldn’t kill him for it later, and if Barry couldn’t still see the fear in Len’s eyes, he would have been videotaping.

            “They’re not evil,” Barry said, “they want to help you.  Without dentists people’s teeth would go rotten.”

            “I hate them.”

            “It’s going to be fine.”

           

 

 

            The car ride was a continuation of the same, Len rambling, most of the time not even following a coherent line of thinking, just switching between telling him that he didn’t want to go, that the dentists were evil, and making Barry and Mick promise to stay there the whole time.

            “If I had known he’d be like this I would have just knocked him out straight,” Mick mumbled at one point.  Barry shot him a glare.

            When they got there Len went off on a tangent about how they should really just go see a movie instead.  There would be no one else there this time of day.  There was some movie they wanted to see – he couldn’t remember the name, but he was sure there was one.  Barry had the day off.  They should do something fun instead.  He’d been so sad lately.

            They half dragged him into the office, but even as Len rambled, the horrid panic Barry had seen in him the night before, the stiff, tense fear of their last visit, was absent.  He was jittery, adamantly didn’t want to go, but he wasn’t terrified.

            It got worse when they got in there.  Len was brought right in, so there wasn’t any time spent in the waiting room, but Barry watched Len’s face get paler as they went down the hallway.  When the anesthesiologist motioned for Len to sit down he turned to Barry instead, fear across his face.

            It was shocking.  Not the fear really, because Barry had seen him when he was more afraid, but the openness of it.  There was no mask, no hiding, no panic leaking around the edges, just an open, expressive fear.

            “It’s OK,” Barry said, “you’re just going to sit down.  Easy.”

            Len shuffled over, sat tentatively, glancing at Barry every few seconds, as if looking for reassurance.

            “It’s OK,” Barry said again.  He gave him a smile.  “You’re doing great.”

            Len gripped his hand hard, and the anesthesiologist took his blood pressure and attached a pulse oximeter.  Barry felt his heart speed up, but he focused on Len, looked at Len, who hardly seemed to even register the anesthesiologist next to him.

            Mick had taken his spot in the extra chair.  He was next to Len too though right now, not in the corner, where Barry assumed he’d go once Len was out.

            “Alright, Len, we’re going to get you set up with the IV now, OK?”

            Barry took a deep breath.  “I’m going to go now, Len.  I’ll be right outside, OK?”  He gave his hand a squeeze, but suddenly Len’s hand tightened on his, eyes going wide.

            “Don’t go,” he said.

            Barry gave him a tight smile.  “I have to,” he said, “It’s OK.  I’ll be right outside.”

            “No, don’t go, please,” Len said.

            Mick had stopped the anesthesiologist, but Barry could see the IV stand from the corner of his eye.

            “I have to, Len,” Barry said, “you told me not to stay, remember?”

            “I change my mind,” he said, “don’t go, please.”

            “I – I can’t stay, Len.  I can’t… I can’t do IV’s, remember?”

            Len’s face went pained.  “Right,” he said, “medical.”  His eyes went wide again.  “Are you OK?”

            “I’m fine,” Barry said, smiling again.

            “I could go with you.”

            “No – Len, you have to stay here.”

            “I don’t have to.”

            “Yes you do, Len.”

            “I don’t want to.”

            “I know.  It’s OK.  You’re going to sleep now, OK?”

            “They’re going to pull out all my teeth if I sleep.”

            “No they won’t,” Barry said, “Mick will make sure.”

            Len looked to Mick, who clapped a hand over his shoulder.

            “No one’s gonna mess with your smile, Snart.”

            Len gave him a perturbed look.  Barry took the opportunity to give him one last squeeze of his hand, before letting go and getting up.

            “I’ll be here when you wake up,” Barry said.

            “I love you,” Len said.

            “I love you too.”

 

 

 

 

 

           

            The last thing Len remembered was Mick’s hand on his wrist.

            The anesthesiologist had put the IV in, and with the short prick of it another rush of adrenaline had come through him.  He had moved to take the IV out, almost reflexively, and Mick grabbed his hand.  Len thought he had said something, but he didn’t remember what, and then everything went blank. 

            The next thing he remembered was sitting in the chair, Barry holding his hand, telling him it was time to go.  Mick had to help him out – he was stumbling too much. Then he had gone home and fallen asleep on the couch next to Barry.

            He woke up hours later, when both the sedative and the valium had worn off.  Barry was flicking through Netflix, and Mick was sitting with his feet up in the arm chair. Len blinked and then shifted, wincing at the sore twinge in his neck.

            “Hey,” Barry said, “how do you feel?”  Barry smiled, and one of his hands rested on Len’s arm.  He was lying with his head on Barry’s thigh, and moved to sit up slowly.

            “Tired,” Len said.  His voice was quiet, felt rough from sleep.  “What time is it?”

            “Almost four,” Mick said.

            Len’s eyes widened a little.  That was long – longer than last time had been.

            “Doc said you probably shouldn’t have taken that much valium,” Mick said.

            “What he means is the anesthesiologist nearly had a heart attack when Mick told him after he had already sedated you,” Barry said, “I could hear him yelling from the waiting room.

            Mick shrugged.  “He was fine, wasn’t he?”

            “I feel like I got run over by a truck,” Len said.

            “Well, I told you t’take three.”  Mick took another sip of his beer.  “Not like you ever listen to me.”

            Len didn’t say anything.  If he was going to be drugged, he needed to really be drugged.  Otherwise the panic at not being able to think clearly negated any calming effect it had.  That being said… he probably could have just taken three.  His memory of the events after the drugs kicked in were hazy at best.

            “Lenny, you’re back.”  Len looked over to the kitchen, where Lisa was coming out.  Right.  He had forgotten he had asked her over.

            “Mmm,” Len said, stretching.  He felt sore, and exhausted even though he had just woken up from an hours long nap.

            “Do you want anything to eat?” Barry asked.

            “I could eat something,” Len said.  He realized at Barry’s question that he was hungry.  He hadn’t eaten anything that day, and it was already four o’clock.  He looked back at Barry.  “Did you –”

            “He ate,” Lisa said.

            Len looked over at her, only to turn back and find Barry scowling over at Lisa.  Len laughed.

            “Your sister is a tyrant,” Barry said.

            “Did I forget to mention that bit?”  Len smiled at him.  “There’s a reason I asked Lisa, not Mick.”

            Mick grunted from his chair.

            “She made me eat a calorie bar,” Barry grumbled, “I thought I was gonna throw up.”

            “But you didn’t,” Lisa said, “you’re fine.  You want a sandwich Lenny?”

            “Sure,” Len said.  He looked back at Barry and said, quieter, “I’m glad you ate.”

            Barry’s mouth changed from a scowl to a frown, and he glanced away, not quite meeting Len’s eyes.  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t given much of a choice.”

            Len’s eyes narrowed.  “You didn’t flash it away or something, did you?”

            “Wha- No!” Barry said, and the genuine indignation there set Len’s mind at ease and made him laugh.

            “Just checking.”

            Barry glared at him.

 

 

 

 

 

            Later, after Mick and Lisa were gone they settled into bed, and Barry laid his head against Len’s shoulder as he picked up a book from the nightstand.

            “How are you feeling?” Barry asked.

            “Fine,” Len said.

            “You wanna talk about it?”

            “No,” Len said.  It was a reflex at that point – no, he didn’t want to talk, he never wanted to talk, he couldn’t talk.  He took a deep breath.  “I don’t remember anything they actually did.  The… the lead up is worse than actually going.”

            Barry nodded.  “You remember going there though?  In the car this morning?”

            Len swallowed, and nodded.  “Yeah.  It’s hazy though.”

            “You seemed OK for most of it,” Barry said.

            “I was pretty high.”

            Barry’s face broke out in a grin.  “Yes.  Yes, you were.”

            Len flicked him.  “Oh, shut up.”

            “He- ow!  Rude.”

            Len rolled his eyes.  “How about you?  How do you feel today?”

            “Fine,” Barry said, “a little better.  I think I’m getting better.”

            “Good,” Len said.  “Being at the dentist – with the IV…”

            “It was fine,” Barry said.  “It’s… it’s better when it’s not me, too.  But I left before they did that anyway.”

            “OK,” Len said.

            “You feel OK now, though?” Barry asked.

            Len sighed.  He wrapped his arms around Barry, and pulled him a little closer.  “Yeah, Scarlet, I feel better now.  I’m just glad it’s over.”

            And he was.  The relief was immense.  It was over with.  His tooth was fixed.  It was fixed and it was done with.  He didn’t have to go back for another six months.  His teeth were fine again.  He kept running his tongue over the tooth.  He couldn’t feel the difference – hadn’t been able to feel any difference before either, but he kept doing it anyway.  It was there.  It was fine.  It was over.

            “Sleep?” Barry said.

            Len put the book back.  He flicked the light off.  “Yeah, sleep sounds good.”


	9. I Said, I Need a Fucking Ambulance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So again, warning, more suicide-sort of themes, but not really as bad in this chapter as before. Similarly, more food stuff, but not as bad as previous chapters.
> 
> Hope you like it :)

            The day after Len’s dentist appointment was Saturday, and Len and Barry spent most of it curled on the couch watching movies.  Around two, Barry said he needed to go to Star Labs.

            “No,” Len said.

            Barry frowned.  “No?”

            “No.”

            The frown deepened, and he put a hand on Len’s arm, searching his face.  “Are you OK?  You need me to stay?  I can –”

            “No,” Len said, shaking his head, “not – I’m fine.  I said no, as in you cannot be running until you get your weight back up.”

            “Oh,” Barry said, “I mean – I had a calorie bar yesterday.”

            “How much do you weigh?”

            Barry shifted.  “I mean, I haven’t really checked lately.”

            “Until you’re at least at 160, no running.”

            “160?  That’s over twenty pounds!”

            “Yes – and you lost over forty, Barry.”

            “OK, but – I mean, I’m fine.  I feel better.  I –”

            Len gave him a look. 

            “OK,” Barry said, “so I probably shouldn’t be on the treadmill, but no running at all?  Len that’s –”

            “No running,” Len said.

            “But –”

            “ _No running_.”

            Barry sighed (very dramatically, if you asked Len), and said, “Fine.  But I still need to head over.  Cisco wanted to check something new with the suit.”

            “I’ll drive you,” Len said.

 

 

 

 

            Len was sitting in a chair in the cortex, with his feet up on a table, eating a twizzler.

            “Hey – not cool man!  Barry!  Get in here.  For the last time, tell your criminal boyfriend to keep his hands out of my stash!”

            Cisco stood in the middle of the room and pointed.  Barry came in a minute later.  He had his head down, looking at a tablet, and he didn’t look up.  “Len, stop eating Cisco’s candy,” he said, walking right by them, eyes still down on the tablet.

            “That was one of the worst hiding spots yet,” Len said, “this is getting too easy, Ramon.”

            “Well, maybe all the good spots are gone now,” Cisco mumbled, walking out of the room again.

            Len grinned.  It had become a kind of game.  Every time he was in the lab with nothing to do, he started searching for Cisco’s candy stash, which he now moved every time Len found it.  It was amusing.

            Caitlin walked in next, and she just opened her mouth when an alarm went blaring.

            Len sat up straight and Cisco was at the computer in a second.

            “It’s a fire on Shrewsbury, an apartment complex,” Cisco said.

            Barry was next to him, as a map came up on the screen, and Len was just starting to stand when Barry was suddenly in his Flash suit.

            “Barry –” Len said, but Barry was already turning towards the door.

            “I’ve got it,” he said, and he was gone.

            Len felt a dual shot of anger and fear.  He jumped up, practically shoving Cisco out of the way so he could speak into the mike.

            “Barry Allen get back here right now,” Len said, his voice low, almost a growl.

            “It’s just a fire,” Cisco said, “I’ve got the plans of the building already, Len.”  He was typing at the computer, bringing up blueprints and a live feed from security cameras in the area at once.

            “He can’t be running,” Len said, his voice coming too fast, jumping over to the next screen, the one that tracked Barry’s vitals.

            “His heart is beating slower than usual,” Caitlin said, confusion on her face.

            A shot of ice ran up Len’s spine.

            “Barry, stop running,” he yelled, leaning back next to Cisco again.

            “I can’t,” Barry said, his voice coming in through the speakers.  “The fire engines aren’t even here yet – it’s OK, I feel fine.”

            “Your systems are running at below fifty percent,” Caitlin said, and she was growing increasingly alarmed as well.  She turned to Len.  “What is going on?”

            “ _Scarlet_ ,” Len growled.

            “Barry your blood pressure just dropped, are you OK?” Caitlin said suddenly as something started beeping.

            “Yeah, I feel fine.  It’s fine.  I’ve got two people out already.”

            “Let the firefighters do their jobs Barry, get out of there,” Len said.

            “I can’t – it’s spreading.  Everyone on the higher floors are getting blocked by a fallen beam.  I’m –”

            “All your vitals are dropping, Barry Allen, what happened?” Caitlin said.  She turned to Len then.  “What is going on?”

            “He hasn’t been eating,” Len said.

            There was suddenly another beeping, this one shrill, and Caitlin was yelling. 

            “Barry – Barry can you hear me?”

            There was no answer.

            “What’s wrong?” Len asked.  “What happened?”

            He looked at the screen Caitlin was at but he didn’t understand it, just knew that the red and the flashing couldn’t be good.

            “I think he passed out,” Caitlin said.  Some of the beeping stopped or slowed down.

            “Barry?” Caitlin said again, “Barry can you hear me?  Barr –”

            “Yeah,” Barry said.  His voice came out shaky.  Len sucked in a breath.

            “Scarlet, what happened?  Are you OK?”

            “Yeah – I – I’m fine.  I need – there’s still people –”

            “No,” Len said, “get out of that building and wait for the firefighters to get there, Barry.  You’re going to get yourself killed you –”

            “I can’t just not help!  People could die, I can’t just –”

            “Yes you can!”

            There was a beat of silence.  “I’m fine,” Barry said, and then Caitlin’s monitor started beeping again.

            They could hear the background static and wind that meant Barry was moving, so he wasn’t passed out, but Caitlin was scrambling to try to talk to Barry again.

            “Barry, your glucose is dangerously low you have to stop running, you’re going to have a heart-attack,” Caitlin said.

            “How far away is he?” Len asked, turning to Cisco.

            “It’s near Elm St, so, about ten seconds for him, about fifteen minutes for us.”

            “Damn it,” Len swore, and then he started running.

 

 

 

 

 

            When he got to the scene he couldn’t find Barry.  He had his phone out, gun in one hand, goggles on (he usually kept his stuff in a hidden compartment in the van, that way if he was out and needed it he had it with him – it was a habit he’d picked up after starting to date Barry) and he was talking to Cisco who was giving him a running commentary on where Barry was in the building by his suit tracker, what his vitals were (Caitlin assumed he had passed out a couple more times while he drove there) and where the firefighters and police were.

            When he showed up the police didn’t immediately converge on him.  Not even when he started firing the gun, which was still new to him.  Barry had told him that Singh had issued a new statement, that as long as the Flash was at the scene as well, police were not to engage with Captain Cold.  For one, it had proven to be very dangerous as well as ineffective.  And two, Len hadn’t actually broken in anywhere since starting to date Barry.  He had however, helped out the Flash on a number of occasions.  So unless Captain Cold started shooting innocents or causing rampant destruction, if the Flash was there too, the police were told not to touch him.

            It sure made his life a lot easier at least.  He went right to the building and started firing at any flames he saw, although there wasn’t much at the bottom.  He could already feel heat from it though, and he realized that the parka he was wearing was not really going to help him much.  He compensated by freezing everything in sight.  It cooled down the air around him, which left it tolerable, if still quite hot.

            It didn’t take him long to see Barry.  Once second there was a flash of yellow and the next Barry was standing in front of him.

            “What are you doing here?” he yelled, “you – I have a fire resistant suit, you’re wearing a parka, what the hell are you doing, Len!”

            The next thing Len knew, he was back outside again.  Before Barry could turn and run Len grabbed his arm.

            “Barry,” he said.

            “I’m fine,” Barry snapped, but it only took one look at his face, one look to see how pale he was, how he was shaking, how his eyes were wide, and glazed.

            “You’re going to get yourself killed,” Len said, “do you hear me, Barry – you’re going to get yourself killed!”

            “I’m fine,” Barry said, and he was gone.

            Len swore.

            He went back into the building a half dozen times before Barry stopped pulling him out.  As it was Len could tell he was checking on him as he went by, carrying more people out.  Len helped freeze up the broken beams were a section was threatening to collapse, which sped things along.  They had gotten almost everyone else when the smoke was getting too much, and Len had to turn back.  He made his way back down the staircase he was in.  He was coughing, freezing the area around him as the water from previous trips melted into puddles and evaporated all in seconds.  The heat was stifling in a way that made it hard to breathe, and Len was freezing himself a path just to get back out.  Flames were crawling up the sides everywhere he went.  The fire had spread while he had moved up into the building, and had started cutting off his exit path.

            Fortunately, with the cold gun he could clear a path.  He was almost out again when he realized he hadn’t seen a zip of yellow in the last minute or so.  Another flash of fear ran up his spine, but he had to focus on getting himself out before something collapsed or the flames were too much even for the cold gun.  He was down to the second floor, almost there, when he caught sight of something red on the ground.

            Something red that was moving.  Moving in sick, spasmodic jerks, and there was a moment of white hot fear and dread, one moment where the hair on the back of his neck stood up, his muscles freezing, before he even realized what was happening.  One second, and then it all came crashing down as he ran around the corner and dropped to his knees.

            Barry was seizing.

            His eyes were glazed, rolled back in his head and his whole body was contracting, jerking, jaw clenching and unclenching, fingers like broken claws, wrists twitching, neck a taut line, thrown back, head banging onto the ground.

            “No, no, no.”  The words were coming out of his mouth and Len dropped, settled Barry’s head between his knees to keep him from giving himself a concussion.  He knew you were supposed to do that much, but he couldn’t remember the rest – was he supposed to put something in his mouth?  Was he supposed to try to hold down his arms?  One landed with a sickening bang against the floor as Barry’s muscles jerked, contracting and releasing over and over again. 

            Len didn’t think he’d ever forget the image of Barry seizing in front of him.  He definitely wasn’t ever going to forget the feeling.  Helpless, fear climbing up his throat, the adrenaline and panic under his skin only growing, screaming in his veins as the seizure went on and on and on.  He could do nothing to stop it, nothing to help but hold his head.  He was there for two minutes.  Two minutes of watching Barry’s body twitch and jerk and spasm.  He didn’t know how long Barry had been lying there before he got there.  Somewhere he knew that the longer the seizure went on the worse it was.

            He watched Barry as he seized, thinking this couldn’t be it, thinking please, God, let him be OK, thinking this was his fault, his fault, _his fault_. 

            And then the movements abruptly stopped.  Barry went still, and Len’s heart stopped.  He pressed his fingers to Barry’s neck, scrambling, and for a few long seconds couldn’t tell if there was a pulse or not, before he finally found it, hummingbird fast, faint under his skin.  His eyes were half-lidded, and then they blinked open, and Barry was looking at him.

            “L-Len?” Barry said.  His eyes clouded in confusion, and he reached up, fingers gripping at Len’s wrist, weak, clawing motions as they slipped away again.

            “I’m right here,” he said, “it’s –”  He sucked in a breath, felt a rush of relief – he was talking, at least he was talking, he was OK, he was OK for now.  “It’s OK,” he said.  “You’re OK.”

            _You’re OK, you’re OK, you’re OK_.  Len grabbed his hand when it slipped down, squeezing lightly.  Barry tried to grip back.

            “Wh-what ha-appened?” Barry said.  Fear was creeping into his expression.

            “You had a seizure,” Len said, and it only occurred to him after that maybe he shouldn’t have told Barry that.  “You had a seizure but you’re alright.  You’re going to be alright.”

            Barry leaned up, like he was trying to sit up, but he didn’t get far.  Len helped him sit up, helped him lean against him as he mostly held him upright in his arms.  Barry was shaking from the effort.

            “I – I c-can’t get u-up,” Barry said.

            “It’s OK,” Len said. 

            Just then there was a jarring cracking noise and they both looked to see a beam buckle and half-fall, crunching in the middle.  Flames ate at the back of it.

            The panic was back.  Len shot the cold gun at it, and suddenly took in his surroundings again.  The flames were back.

            “We gotta get out of here, Scarlet,” Len said.  He shot off a couple more bursts from the cold gun, and then he tucked it back in its holster.  He put one arm under Barry’s knees and the other around his back and lifted.

            Barry threw one arm around Len’s neck, and his head leaned against Len’s shoulder.  Len could hear him breathing, the noise raspy, shallow.  He could feel his own heartbeat hammering through his chest, and he started making his way down the last flight of stairs, as quickly as he could.

           

 

 

 

 

            The news crews were all pointed at the burning building, where firefighters were getting the last people out, or what they thought were the last people – it was too soon to make a list of missing, or to know if anyone had died.  Half the news crews were focused on them, the other half were pointed at the front entrance, where the Flash had been speeding in and out of, carrying people with him, until approximately seven minutes ago, when suddenly the activity went dead.

            But after seven minutes, all of the news crews cameras were once again pointed straight at the entrance to the building, where Captain Cold was carrying the Flash down the front steps.

           

 

 

 

            As soon as Len was outside, there were suddenly three police officers, four paramedics, and two firefighters on him.

            “I need an ambulance,” Len said.

            “Is there anyone left in there, Cold?” one of the firefighters said.

            “Mr. Snart, please relinquish the Flash,” the first officer said.

            There were hands on Barry’s face and he curled against Len, the paramedic trying to get a look at his eyes.

            “I said, I need a fucking _ambulance_ ,” Len said, “back the fuck up and get the damn ambulance.”

            “Mr. Cold, if you’ll let me see him,” the paramedic said.  There was suddenly a stretcher in front of him.

            “Cold, was there anyone else in the building?  Are there still –”

            “I don’t know,” Len snapped.  “I don’t know, get the fuck out of the way.”

            Len moved by them all, going for the stretcher, where he carefully placed Barry down.

            Barry whimpered.  His hand reached out, fingers curling around his wrist again.  “No,” he said, “no, no, no –”

            “Easy,” Len said, taking his hand again and giving it a squeeze.  Someone was placing an oxygen mask over Barry’s face.  Len turned to the nearest paramedic.  “He needs to be brought to Star Labs,” he said.

            “Mr. Cold, a medical facility –”

            “Take him to Star Labs,” Len said, growling.  “He needs to be taken to Star Labs, you understand?  You take him there or I’ll take the damn ambulance myself.”

            Len didn’t stop to see if they were listening.  He turned back to Barry as they started loading him into the ambulance.  Len hopped up with him.

            “Um – Mr. Cold –”

            “I’m coming,” he said.  He turned to the paramedic who appeared to be the driver.  “You take us to Star Labs,” Len said, “Or I’ll put every one of you on ice.”

            “Star Labs,” the driver said.  He got into the front.

            “L-Len,” Barry said.  Len looked down at him again.

            “You’re fine,” he said, “we’re headed to Star.  You’re fine.”

            The engine started up.  Barry’s eyes were locked on his, wide and scared, confused.

            “OK Mr. Flash, we’re just going to put in an IV now –”

            The first paramedic turned towards Barry and Barry jerked back.

            “No,” he said.  He looked at Len, and Len could see the panic there, suddenly three times worse, “No – Len – no, no –”

            “Easy, Flash,” Len said.

            There was a warning there.  They weren’t alone – these were still paramedics, there were other people here and Len was afraid Barry was going to say something to out himself.

            “No – no IV, it’s not Caitlin, no IV, please, I –

            “No IV,” Len said, to the paramedic.

            The paramedic looked at him.  “Mr. Cold, I need to –”

            “Get him to Star,” Len said.  He swallowed hard.  “No IV’s.  Just get him to Star.”

            Barry’s eyes were full of relief, but Len’s stomach felt sick.  This was no longer about what Barry had said earlier.  This was the fact that Len wouldn’t be able to calm him down without using his name, without giving away a lot more than he wanted to about the Flash and Captain Cold’s relationship.  He was afraid Barry would say something, would get so scared he wasn’t thinking at all, if he wasn’t there already.  And the fear in Barry’s eyes was horrid – a stranger sticking him with needles again – Len swallowed hard.  Then he leaned in close to Barry.

            “Caitlin, you there?”

            “Len?  We have the news up, you guys are on your way?”

            “In route,” Len said, “what’s his vitals?”

            There was a pause.  “I need to see him.”

            “They want to put in an IV, can that wait?”

            Another pause.  He could imagine Caitlin was thinking what he was, how much a disaster it would be to try to get that done now – there was no good solution for it.  Barry was likely to yell something he shouldn’t, Len couldn’t comfort him the way he normally would, and if they tried to hold him down – if he tried to get away he’d make himself worse – he did not want to be expending energy right now.

            “I don’t want one, I don’t want one, please,” Barry broke in.

            “It can wait,” Caitlin said.

            Len let out a breath and looked back at the paramedic.

            “No IV,” he said.

 

 

 

 

            They showed up and Caitlin and Cisco were waiting at the doors.  Cisco got rid of the paramedics, stopped them at the door while Len helped get Barry inside.  But instead of going into the main medical room Len was surprised when Caitlin brought them to Barry’s room.  She hooked up a few monitors while Barry held Len’s hand, looking fearful.

            “He had a seizure,” Len said.

            Caitlin sucked in a breath, but nodded.  Len assumed they could at least guess what had happened from the suit’s monitoring.

            “OK, Barry,” Caitlin said, looking at a tablet that the monitors were sending information to.  “We’re going to keep you on oxygen for a little bit.  Does anything hurt?”

            Barry hesitated, and then nodded.

            “What hurts, Scarlet?” Len asked.

            “I think its fine though,” Barry said, his voice small.

            “What hurts, Barry?” Caitlin asked.

            “Everything aches,” he said, “a-and my ankle.”

            Caitlin moved down.  Barry nodded at his right leg, and Caitlin worked gently to get the suit off of it.  When she removed the shoes, the skin of his ankle came into view.  It was a blotchy purple, but when Caitlin felt around it Barry didn’t complain too much.  He just winced a little.

            “It’s not broken,” she said.  She looked back up.  “Does anything else hurt?”

            Barry held up his wrist.  “It’s not broken though.”

            Caitlin took it anyway.  There was significant bruising along one side, but he was right, it wasn’t broken.

            “OK, Barry,” Caitlin said, “how are you feeling?  I know you feel weak, do you feel tired?”

            Barry nodded.

            “Any nausea?”

            Barry shook his head.

            “OK,” Caitlin said.  She looked back at the tablet.  “You’re oxygen levels are back up.  We can take that mask away now as long as you’re not having any trouble breathing.”

            Barry shook his head, and Caitlin removed it.

            “Alright,” Caitlin said.  She pulled over a chair, and it made a knot form in Len’s stomach.  Barry glanced nervously between them.  “Barry,” Caitlin said, “everything in your body is leveling out again.  There’s not really any major problems, which is good.  Either the seizure wasn’t too severe, or because of your healing you’ve recovered very quickly.  Do you know why you had the seizure?”

            Barry cringed.  He looked away, not meeting either of their eyes, before finally glancing up at Len, looking, at least in part, a little sheepish.  Len just stared back.

            “You currently have severe hypoglycemia,” Caitlin said.  “That’s what caused the seizure.  Len said you weren’t eating.”

            Barry looked down at the blankets.

            “He lost forty pounds,” Len said.

            Barry’s head jerked up, looking at him, eyes wide.

            Caitlin sucked in a breath.  It was suddenly silent.

            “Why was I not told this?” she said.  Her voice was unusually quiet.

            Len looked at Barry.  Barry mumbled into the blankets.

            “Barry?” Caitlin said.

            “Didn’t want an IV,” he mumbled again, just loud enough to be heard.

            Caitlin looked at Len.  “He was doing poorly,” Len said.  He left it at that.

            Caitlin opened her mouth, closed it again.  She let out a sigh.  “We’ll talk about this later,” she said.  “For right now, Barry, you have a choice.  You can eat, or I can put you on an IV.”

            Barry looked up sharply.  “I – I don’t have to get one?”

            “I need you to eat a significant amount,” Caitlin said, “I know you weren’t feeling like eating lately.  It might be easier to do an IV.”

            “I’ll eat,” Barry said.

            Caitlin grabbed a Cisco bar.  Barry obediently started eating.  Five bites in and he stopped.

            He looked up at Caitlin.  “I think I’m gonna be sick,” he said.  His face went pale.

            Len grabbed a bin, but Barry didn’t throw up, just kept looking queasy for another five minutes.

            “Barry,” Caitlin said, “I need you to eat more than that.”

            “I’m afraid I’m gonna throw up,” Barry said.

            “I know you feel nauseous,” Caitlin said.  “But you need to try.  Have you actually thrown up at all recently?  I know you’ve been feeling nauseous then too.”

            Barry shook his head.  He ate a couple more bites, and stopped again.  When Caitlin told him to eat more he all but whimpered.

            “I feel sick,” he said.

            “I can put in an IV instead,” Caitlin said gently.  Barry shook his head.  “Why don’t you try to drink something,” she said.

            She got Barry water, and he drank a few sips and took another bite. 

            “I really feel sick,” Barry said.  He was clutching at his stomach, leaning forward every couple of minutes like he thought he was going to throw up, but he didn’t.  He kept nibbling at the Cisco bars, first one, then two.  Caitlin let him eat slow.  She didn’t know if he could get refeeding syndrome with how his metabolism worked, but his glucose levels were rising and as long as he didn’t start moving too much he wasn’t in danger of going into acute hypoglycemia any longer.

            “Barry,” Caitlin said when he finished the second bar.  “Why didn’t you tell me you had lost so much weight?”

            His eyes flicked away again.  “I didn’t want an IV,” he said.

            “You thought I’d give you an IV if you told me?”

            Barry nodded.

            “Barry, you know if I said you needed one it would be because you really, really needed one, right?”

            He fiddled with his hands.  “I thought you’d give me one, and I was doing so bad… I couldn’t… I couldn’t do that then, Caitlin.  I can’t – I can’t do it now either.”

            Caitlin let out a sigh.  “Barry,” she said, “if you had told me you lost weight I wouldn’t have immediately put you on an IV.  I know it probably doesn’t feel like it, but I don’t actually like putting you on IV’s, Barry.  I only give them to you when they’re absolutely necessary.  I know how much you dislike them.”

            Barry looked up.  “You… you wouldn’t have?”

            “No,” Caitlin said, “I would, however, have asked if you had tried dissolving the calorie powder in water.”

            Len’s head snapped up.  Both he and Barry stared at her.

            “Water,” Len got out, “dissolve it in water.”

            Fuck, he was an idiot.

            Caitlin got up, retrieved a packet of calorie powder and a new water bottle, and poured it in. She shook it, and then handed it to Barry.

            Barry took a tentative sip.  He grimaced a bit.  “It doesn’t taste great,” he said.  Then he drank a few more sips.  “I… I think it’s still making me feel sick… but drinking is still a lot easier than eating is.”

            “How did we not think of that before,” Len said, pressing a hand to his forehead.

            Barry shrugged and gave Len a tentative smile.  He took another sip of the water.

 

 

 

 

            There was more scolding later.  Another lecture from Caitlin on why it was important to let her know what was going on, and then a lot of yelling from both Joe and Iris when they found out Barry had run while he was so malnourished.  He had also dropped another five pounds.  His body had started burning up fat reserves like crazy when he started running in and out of the burning apartment complex.  Five pounds in less than an hour.

            It wasn’t until Barry had fallen asleep, that Len left him.  He got up to go to the bathroom, and on the way back Caitlin stopped him in the doorway to Barry’s room.

            “Why didn’t you tell me he had lost that much weight?” she said.

            Len sighed.  “He was scared,” he said.  “He was doing so badly and he was scared.  I was afraid to make it worse.”

            Caitlin crossed her arms in front of her.  “He lost forty pounds,” she said.

            “Yes.”

            “He must have been having dizzy spells.  Did you know about them?”

            Len closed his eyes.  “Yes.”

            “So you just didn’t tell me about this because it would upset him to come in?”

            “Yes.”

            “I don’t believe that.”  Len opened his eyes.  Caitlin still had her arms crossed in front of her.  Her eyes had narrowed a little.  She sighed.  “Len, you are one of the only people he’ll really talk to when he’s scared.  You’re usually the first one at least.  And unless there’s been a lot more injuries than I’ve known about, you’re usually the one who convinces him to come in.  You’ve never not told us before, Len.”

            “He was afraid of getting an IV,” Len said.  His voice had dropped, quiet, almost icy.  “I thought he’d be fine as long as he didn’t run and kept eating.  It was going to send him into a panic to come back then.”

            “I know it would have upset him more.  I know it would have probably set him back.  We both know that’s always a possibility when he comes in though, Len.  It’s never stopped you before.”

            Len dragged a hand over his head.  “It was just different, Caitlin,” he said, a little louder now.  “He was scared.  He was doing badly.  Really badly.  I thought it would do more harm than good.”

            “You should have at least told me,” Caitlin said, “I need to know about these things, Len.  He lost forty pounds.  We’re lucky he had a seizure and not a heart attack.”

            “I know,” Len said, and he almost yelled it this time.  Caitlin didn’t move though, didn’t flinch.  She kept eyeing him, like she was just waiting.  Len took a deep breath.  “I know, OK?  I should have told you.  I was afraid you’d insist on him coming and I was afraid that it would make him worse off.”

            “His health has to come first,” Caitlin said.

            “His mental health still counts as health, Dr. Snow,” he said.

            He was done with this conversation.  He took a step forward, but Caitlin didn’t move.  Instead she put a hand on his arm when he tried to get by, and waited until he looked at her.

            “I know that, Len,” she said, and her voice was gentle this time.  “I was his friend a lot longer than you’ve been his boyfriend.  I care about him too, Len.  I want him to be happy.  But he has to be alive to be happy.”

            “Has it occurred to you that it might be the other way around, too?”

            Caitlin took in a long breath, but she kept his gaze.  “Len,” she said, and now her voice was quiet “why didn’t you tell me he’d lost so much weight?”

            Because he couldn’t stand the look on Barry’s face when he said he was going to tell Caitlin.  Because he couldn’t stand the fear in his expression, the blank terror, panic crawling up into his eyes.  Because he couldn’t stand to keep seeing Barry when he could barely make it out of bed in the morning, because Barry was supposed to be a ball of light, was supposed to smile at him when they woke up in the morning, was supposed to laugh, was supposed to want to run.  Because he couldn’t take the deep misery there, couldn’t imagine Barry not getting better quickly, couldn’t imagine how in pain, how horribly miserable Barry had to be.  Because he was terrified of watching that progress instead of fade.  Because he was terrified of getting used to the marks of depression on his boyfriend’s face.  Because he was terrified that he didn’t know the half of it.  Because he was terrified Barry was really so much worse then he knew.  Because he was terrified that Barry didn’t really tell him how he was really feeling.  Because he was terrified that he wouldn’t see it coming, wouldn’t know before, wouldn’t get a chance to do anything to stop it.  Because he was terrified that Barry was giving up.  Because he was terrified that Barry was really much worse than he knew, was really past caring, was really one bad experience, one painful situation, one panic-inducing injury away from deciding it was all just not worth it.

            Len looked at Caitlin.

            “I think he’s suicidal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I swear I am actually trying to get away from the suicide themes thing - like, really. Next chapter will hopefully mostly resolve that (for now at least) and then we can get to my original ideas. Like literally, I have two chapters written already that I have had written since the very beginning that we will finally now be able to get to. Yay! Anyway, let me know what you think of the story so far! Comments? Suggestions? Questions? Requests????   
> And, as always, thanks for reading :)


	10. Not A Big Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so same warnings as last couple chapters. Here you go :)

            Caitlin took a long breath, and exhaled.

            “Yeah,” she said, “I was worried about that.”

            _How_ , Len wanted to ask.  How had she known, because he hadn’t, because he hadn’t thought it was a real possibility, hadn’t really thought about it, hadn’t really considered.  Barry had seemed so much better, had, after that one incident where he ran away after getting injured, getting poisoned, said specifically that he wanted to live, that he wanted to be the Flash, that he wanted to do this.  How had she known?  How had she seen it?

            “He said he wanted to die,” Len said.  He took in a deep breath, his voice dropping lower.  “He said he didn’t want to wake up and he said he wanted to die and I haven’t asked him about it but I’m afraid he’s serious and I was afraid he’d kill himself if I tried to make him get checked out for his weight – if we tried to make him get an IV.”

            “OK,” Caitlin said.  “Have you talked to him about it at all?”

            “No.”

            She nodded again.  She looked down, thinking, then up again, meeting his eyes.  “Do you think he’s actively suicidal?”

            “What do you mean by actively?”

            “Do you think he’s made plans?  Has he said anything more explicit, done anything that makes you think he might be seriously considering it?”

            “I don’t think so,” he said, but his head was spinning.  Had Barry made plans?  Had Barry said anything to him that could be him getting ready to kill himself?  He didn’t think so, but he hadn’t thought Barry could be suicidal at all either.

            “OK,” she said, “I mean, that’s good.”  She paused, and looked up again.  “How far do you think the suicidal ideology extends?”

            “I don’t know, Cait,” Len said.

            She nodded, paused.  “It’s just, with Barry… if he wanted to, it wouldn’t be difficult for him to get his hands on something.  We should probably talk to Joe and Cisco… he should have something to keep his gun in that Barry can’t phase through.”

            Len was going to be sick.  Fuck, the gun.  There was a gun right there in the house when Barry was there, not to mention the cold gun.  Sure, it wasn’t deadly to him most of the time, but with a shot to the head at close range, Barry could freeze himself solid.

            “And my gun,” he got out.

            “It won’t stop him from going out and getting one by using his speed, but it’s still better not to have it immediately available.”

            “Fuck,” Len said.  His voice was quiet.

            “Guys?”

            Both Len and Caitlin turned around.  Caitlin pushed the door open, which had previously been just open a crack.  Barry was starting to sit up in bed, blinking at the light.

            Caitlin walked into the room and Len followed a moment later.  Barry looked over at Caitlin.

            “I’m feeling better,” he said.

            There was a half fear, half hope expression on his face, and Len knew he was about to ask if he could go home now.

            “That’s great,” Caitlin said, and then dropped a calorie bar into his lap, “that means you can eat some more.”

            Barry deflated.  “Caitlin,” he said, “I already ate two.  You said my glucose was up – I won’t run anymore, OK?”

            “You’re not leaving here until you have at least two more,” she said.  She grabbed another bottle of water and a calorie packet too.

            “Why don’t you put it in the lemonade instead,” Len said, and Caitlin paused.

            “Good idea,” she said, and went to get a glass of that instead from the fridge.

            “No,” Barry said, “not good idea – two?  But I just had two – and some water with calorie powder!”

            “You said you were feeling better,” Caitlin said, “hopefully your body is adjusting back so it can take in the calories you need.”

            “I just stopped feeling sick,” he said, and a frown broke out over his expression.

            “Maybe you won’t feel so sick anymore,” Len said, “your body is adjusting back again.”

            “I don’t want to eat more,” Barry said.

            “I can put an IV in instead,” Caitlin said.  She placed the drink next to Barry’s bed.

            “You know I won’t do that,” Barry mumbled.

            Caitlin gave him a tight smile.  “I’d understand if it might be easier for you, Barry.  I know IV’s scare you, but it be in and then you wouldn’t have to worry about it, and you wouldn’t feel sick.”

            “But I would worry about it,” he mumbled, “I hate having them in.  All I want is to take them back out.  It’s not like it just stops bothering me once it’s in.”

            Caitlin sighed.  “Well, you don’t have to have one.  But you do need to eat then.”

            Barry protested some more.  Len managed to get him to drink the lemonade, but he refused to eat another calorie bar until Caitlin told him that under no circumstances was he leaving before he ate it, and if he waited long enough then he’d just need more as well.

            He ate it, looking miserable and grumbling the whole time, looking like he was ready to puke at multiple instances.  When he had just finished the last bite, already leaning up as if to get out of bed, Caitlin pulled over a chair.

            “Barry, we need to talk about this before you go,” she said.

            Len tensed.  Barry just deflated.  He ran a hand through his hair.  “I know,” he said, “I should have told you.  I got scared and I let it come before my health.  I can’t be the Flash if I do that.  I’m sorry.”

            It came out almost like a script.  Caitlin frowned.

            “You could have had a heart attack,” she said, “you could have had a heart attack and died, Barry.”

            He looked away.  “I know,” he said, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t think about it like that.  I wasn’t running, but then there was the fire and I couldn’t just not do anything and I didn’t really think about what that could do to me – I heal.”

            “You can’t heal if you’re dead,” she said, “you’re not invincible, Barry.”

            “I know,” he said.  He still wouldn’t look at her.  “I just – I know.”

            “Regardless,” she said, “You should have told me as soon as you realized you were losing so much weight.”

            “I thought you’d give me an IV,” he mumbled, “I know I should have come anyway, I just… I – I couldn’t.”

            “What do you mean, Barry?” Caitlin asked.

            Barry shrugged.  “I just… Len said he was going to call you and I – I thought you’d give me an IV and I – I didn’t – I had felt so awful and the idea of doing that too, I just… I panicked…”

            “You usually get scared when I have to patch you up,” Caitlin said, “but Len made it sound like it was worse than usual.”

            Barry shrugged again.  He looked over at Len, just a flitting glance, but it was one Len recognized, a look asking for help, telling him he was uncomfortable, was getting anxious.  Len reached over and took his hand.

            “I don’t know,” Barry mumbled, “I… it felt like it was never going to end.”

            “What was never going to end?”

            Barry shifted again, looked more uncomfortable.  His voice dropped lower, quieter, and he played with the edge of the blanket.

            “The… I felt…”  He swallowed.  “I… I was just doing really bad, Cait.”

            “And that made it feel like it was never going to end?”

            He nodded, then played with the edge of the blanket some more.  “Like… like I just couldn’t handle another thing.  Like it was just… I just couldn’t do it.”

            Caitlin nodded, looked down, thinking, then back up.  She waited until Barry met her eyes.

            “Len told me that you said you wanted to die, Barry,” she said.

            Len tensed, tried to cover it up with a small move of his hand, but Barry still glanced over at him.

            Barry looked a little stiffer, looked a little confused though too.  “I… yeah.”  He looked down again, rubbed at his arm.

            “Barry,” Caitlin said, “have you been feeling like that a lot lately?”

            “I don’t know,” he said, “I mean – I feel better now.  I guess… I always feel like that a little when I… when I have to get stuff done.  When I really panic, or when things really hurt, it’s… I’m not thinking, I just want to get out of the situation and I’d do anything to make that happen – like when… like when I was there.”

            “I understand you might feel like that when you’re in a lot of pain,” Caitlin said, “when you’re not thinking straight, and maybe when you’re really panicking too.”  She took a breath.  “But I meant normally, Barry.  Do you feel like that when things aren’t happening too?”

            He shrugged.  Len could feel his heartbeat racing in his chest.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “Sometimes, I guess.”

            Len took a sharp breath.  Barry looked over at him, then back at Caitlin.  “But I – I feel better now,” he said again.  Len’s fear must have shown on his face because he looked between them again, faster this time, eyes getting wide.  “I – I just get upset.”

            Caitlin’s eyes flicked to Len for a second.  Barry looked between them again.

            “Barry,” Len said, “we’re just…”

            “We’re worried,” Caitlin said slowly.  “We want you to be happy, and we want you to be safe.”

            “We…” Len tried again.  “We know – I know, it’s been really hard lately.  And you – you started talking about wanting to die.  And… have you… have you been thinking about killing yourself, Scarlet?”

            Barry’s eyes widened. He looked over at Caitlin, then back. 

            “What?  No, I – Len, I’m – I’m not suicidal, I just – I just get scared and – and upset.  I’m not – I’m not – you thought I was going to kill myself?”

            “That’s why I didn’t call Cait,” Len said softly, “you said you wanted to die, and it scared me.”

            “But I –”  Barry looked lost, looking between them, back and forth.  “I just – I always want to die.  That’s not – I’m not going to kill myself.”

            “You always want to die?” Len said.  He felt numb suddenly.  His grip on Barry’s hand tightened.

            “Well – yeah, just… a little.”  Barry rubbed at his arm again, looked down again.  “I mean just… you know, just normally.”

            “Barry, that’s not normal,” Caitlin said, “do you understand that, Barry?  You shouldn’t have to feel like you want to die all the time.”  She placed a hand on his knee.

            “Well not… not all the time,” he said, “just… sometimes.”

            “How often is sometimes, Scarlet?” Len said.  His voice was still soft, way too soft.

            “I don’t know,” he mumbled.  “Just… sometimes.  Most days, I guess.  But just… not all day most days, just, you know, when I get upset, or scared, or I…”  He trailed off.

            “Barry, that’s not good,” Caitlin said. 

            “I’m sorry,” he said. 

            “Barry, you don’t have to be sorry,” Caitlin said, “It’s not your fault.  We just – we want you to understand that that’s not normal, Barry.  That’s not good – that’s not something you should have to deal with all the time.”

            “I didn’t really think about it.  I just… it’s just there, you know?  It’s just sort of always there.  But I don’t think about it all the time.  It’s not… I’m not suicidal,” Barry said.

            “What would you define suicidal as?” Caitlin said.

            “Well – you know, actually – actually doing it.”

            “Actually killing yourself?  Or actually trying to kill yourself?” Caitlin asked.

            “Both,” Barry said, “and I – I don’t.  I haven’t.  Not really.  So I’m not.  I just – it’s just a coping mechanism.  Like when I don’t – when I didn’t come in even though I needed to.  I just get scared and upset and I hate it so I don’t want to be here.”

            “You don’t want to be alive?” Len said.

            “Yeah,” Barry said, “but not – it’s just because I’m upset.”

            “Barry,” Caitlin said, “can you be honest with me?  You’ve never thought about killing yourself? Ever?”

            Barry bit his lip.  He looked down at his hands. 

            “Scarlet?” Len said.  He felt sick.

            “I don’t know,” he mumbled, “not – not really.  Just… I guess I’ve… I’ve thought about how… but just – just because of my speed, like – not because I was going to do it, just because I wondered how I could.”

            Len opened his mouth but Caitlin shook her head at him and looked back at Barry.  “Barry,” she said, “can you look at me?”  He looked up, and Caitlin smiled.  “If I told you I’d looked up what combination of pills I could take to kill myself – that I wasn’t planning on doing it but I just wanted to know – just in case, what would you tell me?”

            “I’d –” he stopped, blinked, “I’d – I’d ask what was wrong, and – I’d – fuck, Cait, I don’t know.  That’s…”

            “That’s basically what you just told us,” Caitlin said.

            Barry paused, then shook his head.  “No – I – that’s just because I’m… just because I get upset, and scared, it’s not – it’s not like that.”

            “Scarlet,” Len said, “how is it not like that?”

            “Because – because I – I just want to die, I just – it’s normal for me.  It’s just – it’s just a way out, it’s not – I’m not going to do it, I just mean – I feel awful, so I want to die, not – not I feel depressed so I’m going to end it all, it’s – it’s different.  I just – it’s just a feeling.  I just feel like I want to die, not – not I’m going to do it.”

            “Well, I’m glad you don’t want to kill yourself,” Caitlin said, “But that’s still not good, Barry, it’s still –”

            “I know it’s not good,” he said, “but it’s not – it’s not really that bad.  I mean – it doesn’t feel good, but it’s not… it’s not a big deal.”

            “If you feel so bad that you want to die, all on a regular basis – that is a big deal, Barry,” Len said.  He felt lost.  “Barry that – your feeling’s matter.”

            “I know,” Barry said, “I just… it’s not that bad, I –”

            “Barry,” Len said.

            “I just mean I’m not going to go kill myself so you don’t have to worry about it,” Barry said, “I just – I just feel bad sometimes.  I know that matters, I just – I’m not going to kill myself Len.”

            “But you’ve thought about it,” Len said, and he swallowed hard.  “You’ve thought about killing yourself.”

            “Not – not really,” Barry said.  “Just – I wasn’t planning on doing it, it was just if I was going to, not that I was going to, just if I was going to…”

            “Barry,” Len said.  It came out choked.

            “I’m fine,” Barry said.  “I – I’m not going to kill myself, guys.”  He looked between both of them again.

            “Have you talked to your therapist about this?” Caitlin asked.

            Barry flushed.  “No,” he said, “it’s – it’s not a big deal.”

            “Barry,” Caitlin said, “it really is.”

            “But it’s _not_ ,” Barry said.  “It’s just me not feeling good, that’s all.”

            “Not feeling good is not the same as wanting to die, Barry,” Len said, “I don’t think you understand how it sounds when you say things like that.”  Len was at a loss.  “Barry it’s a very big deal.”

            “It doesn’t feel like a big deal,” Barry mumbled.  He looked down, let go of Len’s hand to cross his arms in front of him.  “You just think it’s a big deal because you’re afraid I’ll kill myself, that I’ll die, or hurt myself.  That’s not a big deal.  That doesn’t feel like a big deal, Len.”

            Barry looked up suddenly, looking at him, his eyes red now, his face going red, hands starting to clench.

            “It feels like a big deal when I’m panicking and you have to restrain me.  It’s a big deal when I feel so horrible that I can’t get out of bed.  It’s a big deal when I’m so nervous I don’t want to leave the house.  It’s a big deal when I’m terrified and you’re telling me I have to have stitches anyway, that I have to ha-ave the shot anyway, that I have to have the s-surgery or th-the bone set – it’s –”  Barry sucked in a breath.  “It’s only a big deal to you when I might die, when I might get hurt, b-but what if I don’t care, what if I’d rather die, what if – why is it such a big deal now?  Why is it only a big deal that I feel horrible and terrified when I might die because of it?  Why is how I’m feeling only a big deal when there could be physical repercussions?”

            “Barry –,” Len said, because no, that was all wrong, that wasn’t what he meant at all, but a tear fell down Barry’s face and he leaned away when Len reached over.

            “When I’m scared, it doesn’t matter, and when I’m upset it doesn’t matter, but now that you think I could kill myself – It’s not – it doesn’t feel like a big deal to me because it’s not – it’s _not_ – it’s _nothing_ compared to everything else.  Wanting to die isn’t painful, it’s not – it’s not terrifying, it’s not horrifying like the medical stuff is, it’s not anywhere near as bad, and you – you think it’s such a big deal, why is that the only thing that g-gets to be a b-big deal?”

            “Barry, that’s not what we meant,” Caitlin said.  She still had a hand on his knee.  Barry wiped a hand across his eyes.

            “But it’s what you do,” he said, “y-you don’t care until it could hurt me – physically hurt me.  You don’t care that I’m starving myself until I might have a heart attack f-from it, you don’t care that I feel horrible until I could kill myself fr-”

            “Barry we do care,” Len said, “Barry how –”  _How can you say that, how can you think that?_   Len was stuck between horrified and hurt.  “We do everything we can to help you,” Len said, “and if – Barry if it’s still too much, you don’t have to be the Flash.  You don’t, Scarlet.  None of us – we’d love you just the same, Barry.  We want you to be happy, Barry this isn’t – it’s not just a big deal because you could die, Barry, it’s a big deal because we didn’t – I didn’t realize it was that bad.  Barry, I didn’t realize you felt that badly, and it’s – that’s just as important, Barry.  That’s just as important it’s just that the fact that you could die makes it terrifying too.”

            “It doesn’t feel terrifying,” Barry said.  “It doesn’t – it feels good.  It’s not a big deal because it doesn’t hurt like everything else, it doesn’t – it feels good, it feels – like if it ever got bad enough, I still have a way _out_.  I’m not stuck, I’m not trapped, I have control, I’m not – I’m not strapped down on that fucking table anymore, they can’t have me, I can kill myself now, I could do it, I can do it if I need to.  It’s – it’s _nice_ , Len.  I like it – I like having that – it feels good, it feels _safe_.”

            “Barry, you –”  Len didn’t know what to say.  “You shouldn’t have to feel that way,” he said, “we – Barry we just don’t want you to have to feel that way.”

            “But I don’t care,” Barry said, “I don’t want to lose that, Len.  I’m not – I’m not going to actually do it, so it doesn’t matter.”

            “But it does,” Len said, “Barry, isn’t that what you were just saying – it matters because that’s how you’re feeling, that’s – you’re feeling bad enough that you need that, and I don’t – we don’t want you to have to feel that way.”

            “But it’s not bad,” Barry said, and his voice had gone quiet again.  “That… that feeling doesn’t hurt.”

            “I’m saying it’s bad, it’s a big deal, because you’re feeling bad enough to need that,” Len said, “I’m not – OK, I think it’s a big deal that you want to kill yourself too, but –”

            “I don’t want to kill myself,” Barry said, “I want to die.  Sometimes.”

            “Fine,” Len said, although his stomach was still turning circles with every word out of Barry’s mouth.  “I think it’s a big deal that you’ve thought about how to kill yourself because it’s a big deal that you’ve been feeling so bad that killing yourself seems like a – like a comforting thought.”

            Barry was quiet for a moment.  “I won’t do it,” he said quietly.  “You don’t have to worry.”  It came out almost bitter.  “I’m too weak to anyway,” he mumbled, so quiet Len almost didn’t catch it, so quiet it looked like Caitlin didn’t catch it at first.

            “Barry, I –”  Len didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do.  “I love you,” he said, because he didn’t know what to say but that’s what he wanted to say.

            Barry looked up at him, head jerking suddenly, and his eyes widened, like he was surprised.  And Len lunged forward and grabbed him in a hug.

            “I love you and I am so, so sorry you’ve been feeling so badly Scarlet.  I’m sorry I didn’t notice before.  I love you and it’s going to be OK, we’re going to make it OK, just –”

            Len’s voice hitched.  The room was silent for a second.

            “Just, if anything gets worse,” Caitlin said, picking up after a moment when Len didn’t, “if you start feeling worse, come talk to us.  We want you to be OK, Barry.  And that means physically and mentally.  We want you to be happy.  Let us help, OK?”

            Barry nodded against Len.  “OK,” he said softly.

 

 

 

 

            Although Barry told them several more times that he wasn’t going to actually kill himself, had never actually tried to (outside of the facility where they had experimented on and tortured him), that he had never even seriously thought about actually trying in that moment, Len and Caitlin still had Cisco start working on making a speedster-proof safe for Len and Joe’s guns, although they hadn’t told anyone else about their conversation with Barry, giving Cisco only a brief summary (“he said some things that has us worried, and we want to take some precautions”).  Len wasn’t sure if it was paranoia or being prepared, but it was going to make him feel better either way, so they were doing it.

            Len brought Barry back home to his apartment that night.  They talked about it the next morning, and Barry was a little more receptive.  It helped that Barry calmed down more later – the next day when he wasn’t at Star and had slept and was more relaxed – they could have a more coherent conversation then, and Barry seemed a little embarrassed about getting so upset the day before.  They talked about it with his therapist later too, but Barry still didn’t seem to fully get the gravity of what he’d said.  He kept insisting that it wasn’t really a big deal, and it didn’t seem to matter what Len said, so Len switched to trying to explain why it was a big deal to him, why it sounded so scary, so horrifying, why he wanted to make it so Barry never felt that way again.  And although Barry still didn’t see his recent mindset as something as horrible as Len did, he did seem to get why Len was so upset, and that seemed to make a bigger impression on him than anything really.  He started apologizing on multiple occasions, which Len carefully swept away, but Len did at least manage to instill the idea that Barry saying he wanted to die was very scary, and very upsetting, because Len loved him, and even if Barry didn’t believe that it was such a bad thing, Len saw it as a bad thing, such a bad thing that he was distressed enough about it to keep having the conversation over and over again with Barry, until Barry finally seemed to understand that at least to Len, it was a big deal, and Barry said he’d try what his therapist suggested to break out of that mind frame, although all of them realized that was easier said than done.

            Len did make Barry promise that if he started thinking about killing himself again (even if he wasn’t really going to do it), to tell him, or someone else, immediately.  They were sitting in Len’s apartment on the Tuesday after the fire, Barry just having gotten back from work, when Len’s phone rang.

            “Hello?” Len said.

            “Lenny!  I trust you are on your way to Bridgeport?”

            Len blinked.  “Bridgeport?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why would I be on my way to Bridgeport?”

            “Because it is family dinner night, Lenny.”

            Len blinked, then he groaned.

            “Cisco and Caitlin will be here any minute, now get your ass over here.”

            “I thought we canceled this?”

            “No, you said we should cancel it, and I didn’t cancel it.  Now get over here.  Is Barry there?  I already called Iris and she said she would get Joe, but I haven’t heard back from her so –”

            “Lis, I don’t think we can make it.”

            “Oh, I’m pretty sure you can make it.”

            “It’s been a really stressful week and –”

            “All the more reason to come.”

            “Lisa –”

            “OK, let me put it this way, you’re getting your ass over here in the next twenty minutes or I might just have to regal the company with your adventures in the Ontario heist.”

            Len closed his eyes.  “If you tell them about Ontario I’ll tell Cisco about Boston.”

            “Nice try brother, but we all know who really lost in Boston.  Like I said, twenty minutes – now, is Barry there?”

            Len hung up.  Then he turned to Barry.

            “So apparently we’re having family dinner night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... so you remember that family dinner Lisa tried to make happen around the middle of Learning to Breathe? The one I totally got myself (and Len and Barry) out of because I didn't know how to write it? Well it's probably about time that happen. Now, an arsonist, a kleptomaniac, a cop, two scientists, a speedster, a reporter, and a conniving sister sit down for a meal. What could go wrong?  
>  (oh, also Wally. Wally is now making an appearance. Yes I am completely ignoring the timeline that this series originally started in, no I do not actually have any coherent idea of when this is occurring in the season's and I am ignoring Wells/Eobard/second Wells/zoom/whoever the hell shows up next existence at the moment).


	11. Any Particular Reason You Decided to Ambush Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so it's been a while but don't worry, this isn't abandoned, it just took me a while to finish this up. 
> 
> WARNING: this is where the rape/non-con tag comes in. It will most likely be ongoing from this point forth. Please don't read if that will upset you. 
> 
> Anyway, here you go :)

            Lisa sat at the head of the table, with Mick on one side of her and Cisco on the other.  Mick sat next to Len, who sat next to Barry, who sat next to Wally.  Cisco sat next to Caitlin, who sat next to Iris, who sat next to Eddie.  Joe had the other end of the table.

            It was tense.

            There had been times where they had all been together before.  There had actually been many times, but it was never over a meal, unless that meal was pizza or takeout while everyone stood around the cortex grabbing slices or eating from their own container, and they never really stayed all in the same place for long, definitely not for an entire meal.

            Lisa started a conversation with Cisco.  Len glared at Cisco until Barry elbowed him.  Barry and Len started to talk to Iris, with Eddie putting in a comment here and there, until Lisa got bored of blatantly flirting with Cisco while Mick smirked and laughed and Caitlin looked uncomfortable and slightly appalled, and she joined in their conversation as well.  Wally jumped from conversation to conversation, looking confused as hell but fairly jovial about it.  Joe alternated between glaring at Len, Mick, and Lisa.  Mick seemed to be his favorite target today, probably because he had been forced to get somewhat used to Len and Iris had become acquaintance-friends with Lisa a while ago.  Plus, Lisa didn’t have a record.  She was definitely a criminal, but no one had ever been able to pin anything on her and as far as Joe knew she’d never killed anyone.  Mick had.

            They ate dinner.  Lisa had somehow roped Mick into helping her cook, which had turned into Mick cooking pretty much everything but the desert because, according to him, Lisa was doing it all wrong.  When Joe found out he froze, looked down at his fork, then looked back up.

            “You _cook?_ ”

            Mick grunted.

            “Mick’s a great cook,” Barry jumped in, “you should have seen the steak he made last month, it had to be the best I’ve ever tasted.”

            “I think you actually ate half a cow,” Len said.

            “Mick works at Saints and Sinners in the kitchen,” Lisa said.

            “You have a _job?_ ” Joe said.

            “Part time,” Mick said, “I like to cook, and when they need someone to break up bar fights I get to knock them out.”

            “He means drag them out of the bar,” Lisa said.

            “If they don’t cooperate it’s not my fault if someone winds up unconscious,” Mick said.

            “And do you two have jobs too?” Joe asked, pointing at Len and then Lisa.

            “Len does consulting,” Barry put in.

            “I do real estate and interior design,” Lisa said.

            Len laughed and almost spit out his food.  Lisa glared at him.

            “What she means is she bully’s the landlords into offering cheaper rent and threatens them if they don’t fix the plumbing and electricity,” Len said.

            “I occasionally paint walls too,” she said.  “And search yard sales for cheap furniture.”

            “I’m sorry, where do you do this?” Joe said, managing to mix utter confusion and suspicion together to create a very interesting look on his face.

            “Roguesville,” Lisa said.

            “Roguesville?” Caitlin said.

            Len groaned.  Barry grinned. 

            “Lenny’s territory,” Lisa said.  She shot Len a glare.  “Although someone has been neglecting their duties as of late.”

            “I’ve been busy,” Len said.

            “I’m sorry, Len has ‘territory’?” Eddie said.

            “Roguesville,” Mick said.

            “Will you guys please stop calling it that,” Len said.

            “It’s our area,” Lisa said, “we make the Families stay out of it, and the major gangs.”

            “And Lisa likes to threaten the landlords,” Mick said.

            “I prefer the term strategic persuasion,” Lisa said.

            “I don’t think persuasion is supposed to involve implying that if they want more money you’d be happy to shoot their balls with your gold gun,” Len said.

            “Thing doesn’t even shoot real gold,” Mick muttered.

            “That sounds so great,” Iris said.  Eddie gave her a look like she was crazy.  “What?” she said, “they’re helping the people who live in those buildings.”

            “Can we please not go into the illegal activities,” Joe said, one hand over his face.  He sighed again.

            “Well, if we’re going back to legal activities, then Mick, this food really is excellent.  I can’t believe you’re a cook,” Iris said.

            “Mm,” Wally said, nodding, “super good, man.  We should have dinner’s more often.”

            At least half the table looked over at him like he was insane.          

            “What?” he said, “the food is really good.”

            “It is,” Len said, breaking the silence, “could you pass the chicken over here?”

            They passed the chicken down.  Another conversation broke out as Iris asked Joe something, and Caitlin spoke to Cisco.  Len took a piece of chicken and then turned to Barry, dropping his voice low.

            “Do you think you could try another piece?” Len said.

            Barry frowned, giving Len a look, that look, pleading, big eyes.  Len sighed.

            “Just a little bit more?” he said, “I’ll split a piece with you.”

            Barry had finished the first piece of chicken, but not any of the other food on his plate, and Len was thinking maybe he really liked the chicken, and could be coaxed into eating some more of it.

            “I’m really not hungry,” Barry said.

            “You’re always hungry,” Mick said, “what – you don’t like my cooking now, kid?”

            He was joking, but Barry had a hard time smiling.  “I just haven’t been really hungry lately,” he said.

            Len shot Mick a glare but Mick didn’t see it, and then Wally was chiming in from across the table, having heard what he said.

            “Yeah, Barry, usually by now you’d have eaten three times as much as everyone else,” he said.

            The table grew uneasily quieter again.  Barry tried for another weak smile.

            “I just haven’t been feeling great lately,” he said.

            “Barry should take it slow with food right now anyway,” Caitlin said, trying to help “especially with food as rich as this.  The calorie bars are really better right now because they’re less likely to upset his stomach.” 

            “Why does he need to be taking things slow?” Wally said.  His voice slowed, looking around, confused.

            “He’s just been a little sick,” Iris said.

            “I thought the kid didn’t get sick,” Mick said.  Lisa stomped on his foot.  “Hey!”  he turned to glare at her and she gave him a pointed look.  “Oh,” he said, “that kind of sick.”

            Lisa put a hand over her face, and Barry felt his face start to heat up.  Len put a hand on his knee under the table.

            “He just over-exerted himself,” Cisco said, trying to salvage the situation.  “after the seizure he just needs to take it slow for a bit.”

            “He had a seizure?” Joe yelled, eyes suddenly wide, staring first at Cisco, then Caitlin, then Barry.  “You had a seizure!?”

            “Aaaand I thought you told them already,” Cisco said, his eyes going wide now, looking at Barry.  “I mean, what seizure, did I say seizure, I meant uh, leisure – yeah, after, um too much leisure, like not doing anything – Barry man, getting lazy, not training enough – now he’s trying to get back up to speed but we have to take it slow so –”

            “I’m sorry, you had a _what now_ ,” Iris yelled.

            Barry flinched and shrank down in his seat.  “Um,” he said, “I might have not eaten enough… and then at the fire this weekend, when um, when Len carried me out of the building?  That might have been because I had a seizure… but just a little one!  And I’m fine, I’m totally fine now, just ask Caitlin – right Caitlin?”

            She blinked, then jumped.  “Right,” she said, “there’s no lasting damage from the seizure – he’s completely fine.  As soon as he gets his weight up he’ll –”

            “His weight,” Joe said, then turned back to Barry.  “Have you lost weight?”

            “Uh, well, I mean when I wasn’t doing great last week I lost a little.”

            “How much is a little?” Iris said.

            “So I’m thinking maybe we should focus on how Barry’s obviously OK right now,” Wally said, trying to interrupt, “I mean, I think we’re getting a little off topic – weren’t we talking about what a great cook Mick is?”

            “Bartholomew Allen, how much weight did you lose?” Iris asked.

            “Um,” Barry said, looking around, “I feel like this isn’t really a dinner conversation topic –”

            “Lisa, maybe you should get desert,” Len said.

            “That’s a great idea,” Lisa said, standing suddenly, “you guys are going to love it – I made chocolate layer cake –”

            “Barry,” Iris said.

            “Er,” Barry said, rubbing at the back of his neck, “I mean, just like, just forty pou-”

            “You lost forty pounds!” Joe yelled.

            “But I already gained like fifteen back,” Barry said quickly, “and I promised not to run until I gain at least another five, so really, it’s fine – I’m fine, I’m not even dizzy anymore –”

            “You were getting dizzy?” Iris said.

            “Um, could we maybe not make dinner conversation entirely about me,” Barry said, “maybe we could have this conversation _later_.”

            “And, I have cake,” Lisa said, returning with a _giant_ chocolate cake with layers of fudge frosting.

            “Oh, I have a feeling this is going to rival Mick’s dinner,” Wally said.

            “Dessert does not compare to real food,” Mick grumbled, but as soon as Lisa put the cake down, he was the first to grab another plate and the knife and start cutting pieces.

            Iris narrowed her eyes at Barry.  “Later,” she said.

            “Here,” Cisco said, and he reached across Caitlin just to shove a plate with a piece of cake into Iris’s hands.  “Have some cake.”  He gave Barry an apologetic look.

            Barry sighed.

 

 

 

            The following conversations with Joe and Iris were not fun.  But over the next couple days, Barry continued to gain weight, and he seemed to be doing better.  His mood continued to even out.  He wasn’t overwhelmingly happy all the time, but he wasn’t horribly depressed either, in fact he didn’t seem very depressed at all.  It wasn’t like things were magically suddenly wonderful, but he seemed to be getting fairly content, if not outright happy.

            One of the major indicators that Len had started to notice when it came to Barry’s mood, was how intimate he became.  It was an odd point of reference, or at least it seemed odd to Len, but it was something he had quickly noticed.  How long they would spend kissing, if Barry kissed him first, the type of physical connection he sought – Barry was always pretty touchy, and was usually even more touchy when he was feeling upset or scared, but it was a different kind of physical touch.  Not even that when he was feeling better he sought a necessarily sexual type of physical touch – it was just less focused on Len holding him.  When Barry was upset, he liked to be held tightly, to be wrapped up in Len’s arms.  When he was feeling better he reached out himself more – he ran his hands over Len’s shoulders, touched Len’s face, draped himself over Len more.  It was less focused on being wrapped up and more focused on just being connected.

            And for the fastest man alive, they were moving astronomically slowly.

            At least it felt that way most of the time.  Barry slept over at Len’s apartment all the time, but they had done very little more than kiss.  And while Len was happy to go as slow as Barry wanted, would never pressure him into doing anything he didn’t want to, he wasn’t stupid.  He was beginning to worry.

            On more than one occasion, the way Barry had reacted seemed to hint at something wrong.  At first, Len just thought it was the medical experimentation again.  Barry had gotten better with it over time, especially with Len, but he still didn’t like being touched at all sometimes, and a lot of the time he didn’t like being touched if he couldn’t see the person reaching to touch him first.  It was unsurprising that he might be nervous about physical intimacy then.

            But it seemed disproportionate.  Barry liked being held when he was upset, loved cuddling, seemed comfortable with Len touching his chest and back and arms when they were kissing.  If Barry was still uncomfortable then that was fine, Len could wait, but it seemed odd.

            Len started thinking maybe it was just Barry – he wanted to move slow, didn’t want to have sex when they had only been dating for a little more than two months.  Much slower than Len was used to, but sure, fine.  He wanted Barry to be comfortable.

            But then there was the way Barry reacted whenever things progressed just a little bit too far, the violent, panic-driven reactions.  And at first Len thought it was just the medical experimentation again – he didn’t like feeling trapped so he didn’t like Len leaning over him, he needed to see people reaching for him before they touched him, he got overwhelmed easily – but the reactions just didn’t make sense.

            He thought maybe Barry was asexual and didn’t want or know how to tell him.  Len wouldn’t lie and say he wouldn’t be a little disappointed, but it wasn’t like it was a deal breaker – not for him at least.  Then he thought maybe Barry had been sexually assaulted before.  That was a line of thinking he didn’t want to go down – it left a sick taste in his mouth and sent his stomach flying into knots, his throat and chest tightening up.  Barry had never said anything that would indicate he had been raped, but then, Len didn’t really expect him to if he had.  There wasn’t really any way to find out without just asking him, and it was something Len was hesitant to bring up.  He didn’t want to make Barry uncomfortable, especially if it turned out that he hadn’t been sexually assaulted, and he just wanted to move slow, or if it really was the medical experimentation and how he didn’t always like to be touched.  He didn’t want Barry to think that he expected anything from him, or that it was his fault that he couldn’t or didn’t want to move quickly.  He didn’t want Barry to feel like there was something wrong with him because he didn’t want to have sex yet, and Len was afraid that if he brought it up Barry would assume Len was asking because Len thought it was strange of him not to want to have sex.

            Which was kind of true, but Len didn’t want him to think that it was bad, and made him strange.  Len did find it odd that for how quickly their relationship seemed to develop, and how often Barry was with him, that they hadn’t done anything sexual yet, but if that’s what Barry wanted, then that was fine.  He was just starting to worry.

            He wondered if it was because he was a guy too.  Barry’s friends and family had mentioned ex-girlfriends every once in a while, but never an ex-boyfriend.  He wondered if it made Barry nervous.  It still didn’t really explain his reactions, but if Barry had never had sex with a guy before, or never done anything sexual with a guy before, Len wouldn’t be surprised if he was at least a little bit nervous about that aspect too.

            Or maybe it was just a combination of lots of things.  Maybe Barry got a little nervous about Len touching him when he couldn’t see it, he was a little nervous about being with a guy, his sex drive was down because he was depressed and anxious so much of the time, and he just liked to go slow.  Maybe he even had a bad experience with some guy at a bar or in college or something.  Maybe it was just a combination of a bunch of smaller things.

            But since Barry seemed to be doing a little bit better, Len finally decided that he would ask.  He’d just do it carefully, make sure Barry knew that Len was completely fine going whatever pace he wanted, he just wanted to know because he was worried, and he wanted Barry to be comfortable.

            So he decided he was going to ask, going to make it very clear he didn’t have any expectations or anything, just wanted to know what Barry wanted.  And he came home, got two steps in the door, and then Barry was kissing him.

            After a moment he broke away, leaning back even as Barry tried to follow him forward.  Len put his hands on Barry’s shoulders.  Barry gave him a lopsided smile.

            “Hi,” he said.

            “Hi,” Len said back, “any particular reason you decided to ambush me before I could even get my jacket off?”

            Barry let out a short laugh, kissed him briefly again and brought his hands up, around Len’s neck.  “I missed you,” he said.

            “It’s just been one day, Scarlet,” Len said, “not even a full day.”

            “You weren’t here when I woke up,” Barry said.

            “I had to leave at eight.”

            “Which is why I missed you.”

            Len laughed, shrugged out of Barry’s arms long enough to take his jacket off and toe off his shoes.

            “I missed you too,” he said, and then Barry had his hands around Len’s neck again, lips against his jaw.

            They wound up on the couch.  Len took off his shirt when his body started feeling so overheated he was sweating, and Barry took his off when Len’s hands started splaying up onto his sides and back.  They kept kissing, with a lot of touching, for a while.  And then Barry moved so that he was straddling Len tightly, before abruptly moving again about five seconds later, this time off of him entirely. 

            Barry was suddenly off Len’s lap and standing in front of him instead, eyes darting around, face going red, and with an obvious erection.

            “I – I forgot to eat,” he said.

            Len blinked at him.  “You forgot to eat?”

            “Yeah – I – I’m dizzy.”

            Len stared at him for another second, before getting up, still a little confused, and moved into the kitchen.  He pulled out a calorie bar from a bin of them, and handed it over.

            “Thanks,” Barry said, and he took a bite.

            “Are you alright?” Len asked.

            “Yeah – I just forgot – not like before, not – I mean I just forgot to have something and now it’s kind of late and I was getting dizzy but I’m fine, I just need to eat a little – not bad dizzy, like – I already feel better, I’m fine, I just –”

            “OK,” Len said.

            Barry finished the bar quickly.  “I’m gonna take a shower,” he said.

            “OK,” Len said again.  Then Barry was gone, and a minute later Len heard the shower go on.

 

 

 

 

            Len waited for him in their bedroom.  Barry wasn’t in the shower long.  He came out with damp hair and wearing new clothes, sweatpants and a T-shirt.  Barry smiled at him, flopped down onto the bed next to him and lazily took one of his hands.

            “Barry,” Len said, carefully keeping his tone neutral and calm, “if you want to stop kissing, you can just tell me.”

            Barry froze.  He pushed himself up on his elbows, face already going red.

            “I – I wasn’t –”

            “Barry,” Len said, “I can tell when you’re lying.”

            Barry’s face went another shade redder.  He looked away, eyes darting again.  “I – I didn’t mean – it’s not that I want to stop kissing, I just…”

            Len waited.  Barry didn’t finish the sentence, just flushed red, and drew his knees up to his chest.  “It’s OK if you want to stop,” Len said, “but you don’t need to lie to me, or run away, or make something up.  You can just tell me you want to stop now.  That’s perfectly OK.”

            “But I…” Barry said.  He was looking down now, not at Len, eyes darting again.  “It’s not like that… I just… I don’t… it has nothing to do with you, I – I love being with you Len, I love you, I don’t –”

            “I know that, Barry,” Len said, and he reached out and took one of Barry’s hands and gave it a squeeze.  “I love you too, Scarlet.  You can love someone and still want to stop kissing, Barry.  That’s still OK.”

            “I don’t want to stop though,” Barry said, voice quiet.  He paused for a moment and then leaned closer to Len, moving over so he could rest his head against Len’s shoulder.  “I’m sorry,” he said, very quietly.

            “I’m not mad,” Len said, “it’s OK.  Why do you stop then?” Len said.

            “I… I just… I like kissing, I just don’t… I want to keep kissing but I get, and we – it gets…”

            “Intense?”

            Barry let out a breath and nodded.

            “Because you don’t want to do more than kiss?”

            Barry hesitated, freezing for a moment, before he gave a tiny nod.

            “We won’t do anything more than what you want, Barry.”

            “I know, but I get…”  He made a vague gesture.

            Len raised one eyebrow, just the beginning of a smirk on his face.  “Excited?”

            Barry flushed, and nodded, but when he caught Len’s eye he smiled a little bit too.

            “You can just say you want to stop now, when you’re done,” Len said.  “If you’re getting uncomfortable, or you don’t want to go any farther.  It’s OK to say you want to stop kissing because it’s getting too heated for you, Scarlet.”

            “OK… yeah, I just…” Barry said, “it’s awkward.”

            “It’s not awkward,” Len said, “it’s fine.”

            “OK,” Barry said.  His voice was soft, but he leaned his head down against Len’s shoulder, and pressed into his side.  Len brought one arm around him, and they sat like that for a moment, before Len looked over at him again.

            “I did want to ask you something though,” Len said.

            “What?”

            “Sometimes, when we stop, you seem nervous,” Len said.  Barry tensed, and it did not go unnoticed, although Len did his best not to react to it.  “I really don’t want you to be nervous about anything we do, Barry.  You know I would always, always stop if you asked me to, right?”

            “Yeah,” Barry said.  He seemed to relax a little bit.

            “And we can go at whatever pace you want,” Len said, “and whatever that is, it’s perfectly fine with me.”

            “I know,” Barry said, “I know you’d never hurt me, Len.”

            “OK,” Len said, “I just… you seem to get nervous, Barry, and I don’t want you to be nervous with me… could you tell me why you get anxious sometimes?”

            Barry tensed again.  “I… I just… I don’t want to keep kissing, so I get… I get nervous, because I think I’ll make it awkward, when we stop.”

            Len frowned.  “OK,” he said, “but you seemed really nervous a few times, Scarlet.”

            “I’m not,” Barry said, “I mean, not about that.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “Yeah.  Why would I… I know you wouldn’t pressure me into anything, Len.  I trust you.  I wouldn’t be nervous about you.”

            “You don’t have to be nervous about me to be nervous about sex,” Len said, “I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

            “I am,” Barry said.

            “You really don’t seem like it, Scarlet.”

            “I just... I just don’t want to move fast.”

            “That’s fine,” Len said, “and if that’s just what you want – we can move at whatever pace you want for whatever reason, and if you just want to take things slow, that’s perfectly fine, but sometimes it seems like there’s something else, Scarlet.  And I… I’m here, whatever it is, OK?”

            Barry stared at him.

            “I wasn’t raped.”

            Len felt a tidal wave of relief for about two seconds before continuing to look right at Barry.  “I didn’t say you were,” Len said.  “Although I’m obviously glad you weren’t.”

            “You were talking to me like I’ve been raped.”

            “You get nervous when our kissing gets heated,” Len said, “I don’t know you’re whole life, Barry.  It happens, it’s a possibility, and I was worried.”

            Barry let out a huff of breath.  “I wasn’t raped,” he said, “I just don’t like moving fast.”

            “That’s fine,” Len said, “but you still seem really nervous sometimes.  If it’s just… if it’s just that you don’t feel comfortable with the idea of sex, and sex makes you nervous, that’s fine, that’s completely understandable too –”

            “I’m not scared of sex, I just don’t want to have sex right now,” Barry said.  “Am I not allowed to just not want sex now?”

            “Of course you are,” Len said, “It just –”

            “It’s just weird.”

            “No,” Len said, and this was exactly what he was afraid would happen, “it’s just that you get nervous, Barry.  It’s not weird, it’s perfectly normal and fine, I just got worried, and I don’t want to push you into anything you don’t want.”

            “Maybe I just don’t want to have sex.”

            Len paused.  “Do you… are you asexu-”

            “No!” Barry said, throwing up his hands, and then covering his face.  “No, I meant right now, not ever, not –”  He let out a long sigh.  “I’m not asexual,” he said, “I wasn’t raped.  I just don’t want to have sex right now, or do anything sexual, or just – I like kissing  you.  I like kissing for right now.  And I know I get nervous but I’m fine, Len, I’m fine.  I – I know you would never push me into doing something I don’t want, and I am perfectly fine, OK?”

            “OK,” Len said.

            Barry let out another sigh, and then relaxed against Len’s side again.  Len leaned over to kiss his forehead.


	12. I Don't Want to Talk About It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So if you didn't get the hint from the last chapter, there will be more sexual situations from this point onward. Please keep that in mind if you don't want to read that. And again, rape/non-con WARNING, ongoing from this point forward. That will probably get more and more in depth over the next few chapters.
> 
> Also, I never write stuff like this, so if it's really horrible, I apologize. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

            Barry was better about it after that.  When he wanted to stop kissing, he just said so.  At first it was while stuttering and blushing and fidgeting with his hands, but when he realized Len meant it, that it was fine to just say he wanted to stop, that it didn’t have to be awkward, he grew more comfortable.  Len would just stop, then he would usually ask if Barry wanted to watch TV, or if he was hungry and wanted dinner, or if he wanted to go to bed, or any other number of things.  And he stopped getting so embarrassed about it.

            But he still seemed nervous.

            And it bothered Len.  Bothered him in the way that something keeps going in the back of your mind, the feeling like he was forgetting something, missing something, just something not quite right.  And he tried to tell himself it was fine, Barry got nervous about a lot of things now, and maybe what he thought was nerves was really just arousal or embarrassment anyway.  He could just be reading the situation wrong.

            But he kept getting a bad feeling whenever he saw the way Barry tried to hide trembling hands, how he took shallow breaths, how his eyes flicked away from him.  It wasn’t all the time, and it was always more noticeable, always worse, whenever things progressed farther.

            But Barry seemed to be doing better.  He was eating, got back up to weight, got back right where he was before he started having problems, and there were no other injuries as the Flash for a while.  He seemed happier, and Len got a little caught up in that.

            It was a Saturday when Len woke up to the sun shining through the windows into the room.  Barry lay curled against him.  He’d slept over the night before, and Len was enjoying the warmth he put off, one arm over Len’s chest, head tucked in near his shoulder, a leg thrown over Len’s.  Len was still half asleep, dozing, when he felt Barry shift against him.  It was just enough to start waking him up, and then Len felt something hard against his leg.

            It was not by any means the first time Len had woken up to Barry’s morning wood pressed against him.  Usually he just got up, or if he was still tired he just ignored it.  On a couple of occasions Barry had woken up and then turned around, or gotten up and left the bed entirely.

            And that was fine, but then Barry started shifting against him, and that turned into shallow thrusts.

            Len froze.  If Barry had ever had a wet dream while they were together before, then he had cleaned it up before Len could notice.  Barry was pressed against his side, squirming and thrusting against his leg, breath hot on Len’s neck.  His breathing was heavy, but the only thing that left his mouth was some soft noises.  Len thought he should get up, but then if that woke Barry up, Barry would be embarrassed and uncomfortable.  He could just stay, and pretend to be asleep, act like nothing happened, but he felt a little guilty lying there while Barry was getting off, knowing Barry didn’t want to do anything sexual with him. 

            It didn’t help that he was starting to get hard too.  Barry was clinging to him, and he could feel his cock sliding against his leg through their clothes.

            He was still trying to figure out what would be the best thing to do when Barry tensed suddenly.  Len thought he came, and was waiting to see if it would seep through Barry’s clothing or not, and then suddenly the warmth next to him was gone.

            He paused, then slowly opened his eyes again and looked to the side.  Barry was no longer in bed.  Len sat up.  Barry must have woken up, maybe that was him tensing, or maybe he came and then woke up.  Either way Len looked up to see the bathroom door shut, light emitting from the crack under the door.  A second later he heard the shower go on.

            Len got up.  He went into the kitchen and started making coffee.  Barry couldn’t feel the effects of caffeine anymore, but that didn’t stop him from drinking it like he relied on the stuff.  He went back into the bedroom after it was on to change clothes.  While he was slipping on jeans he heard a muffled noise from the bathroom, that sounded a lot like a moan.

            Len paused.  He had the startling realization that Barry was masturbating in the shower, which really brought up a whole lot of images that weren’t particularly helpful at that moment.  He quickly slipped on a different shirt, and started heading out of the room, figuring it really wasn’t right for him to hang outside the bathroom door while he could hear him, despite what his cock wanted.

            He was passing right by the bathroom door when another noise came from the bathroom, but this one definitely did not sound like a moan.  In fact, it sounded a lot like a sob.

            Len paused again, right in front of the bathroom, frowning.  He waited a second, wondering if he was wrong, when he heard another noise, this one distinctly sounding like a sob, sounded exactly like Barry did when he was crying and trying to control himself and failing.

            Len hesitated again, thinking that if he was wrong then he was about to make Barry very, very uncomfortable, but he wasn’t willing to just walk away if he was crying.  He knocked on the door twice, and then called in, “Barry?”

            There was a pause.  “Yeah?”  Len couldn’t tell over the sound of the shower how his voice sounded, just made out the word – he thought it was a bit shaky but he couldn’t tell for sure.

            “Are you OK?” Len said.

            He waited for a second.  “Yeah, I’m OK.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.”

            “OK.”

            He left, started making pancakes.  Just when it was getting to be about ten minutes later, when he was starting to think he should go back and at least check on him again, Barry came out, hair damp and eyes just the slightest bit red.

            Len frowned when he saw him.  “Is everything OK?” Len said.

            “Yeah, I’m fine,” Barry said, but he shied away from him and went to sit at the kitchen table. 

            “Barry,” he said, his tone quiet, “you look like you’ve been crying.”

            Barry ducked his head.  “It’s fine,” he said.  “I… I don’t want to talk about it.”

            “OK,” Len said, still frowning.  “I’m making pancakes.  Will you still be up to eating some?”

            “Yeah,” Barry said, “I’m hungry, I’m… I’m fine, I can eat.  Do we have blueberries?”

            Len nodded, and Barry got up to get them from the fridge.

 

 

 

 

 

            After that, Len was…. concerned.

            That reaction didn’t make sense, didn’t make any sense and Len kept cycling over in his head what Barry had said to him before, when they had spoken before, and he hadn’t thought Barry was lying during it, was pretty certain Barry hadn’t lied when he said he wasn’t raped, or when he said he wasn’t asexual.  Barry almost always tried too hard when he lied – the eye contact was forced, his face was too blank, too careful, more careful then it ever was naturally – or his eyes widened and he was too effusive, gesturing with his hands, nervous and rambling, but that was usually when he was caught off guard.  He hadn’t been like that.  He had looked shocked and then confused and frustrated, even a little angry.  He hadn’t looked scared or overly zealous or overly sincere.

            But then what was it?  Maybe Barry was just very uncomfortable with sexual things.  Maybe he didn’t believe in sex before marriage?  Len couldn’t really see that with him, and he knew Barry didn’t go to church, but maybe he had when he was young?  Maybe he had a very Christian upbringing which had somehow instilled an idea that all sex and sexual lust was wrong?  And now he was upset by it? 

            But no, Joe West certainly didn’t seem like the type, and Barry had never mentioned his parents being overly religious.  Maybe someone else had told him that when he was young, and it had stuck?

            Maybe it was something with the speedforce.  Len knew that Barry vibrated sometimes when he was aroused.  Maybe the speedforce had sexual side effects?  What would his speed healing and speed metabolism change in regards to sex?

            And then Len had the terrifying realization that he had never actually seen Barry naked, and he started thinking about all of the horrible things that those bastards had done to him, and it wasn’t really outside the realm of possibility that they had castrated him.

            It made Len want to throw up.  Then he thought about it and realized it probably wasn’t what had happened.  Barry would show other signs of depleted testosterone, or he’d be taking testosterone, and while it was possible that he could hide that from Len, it was unlikely.

            That didn’t mean they couldn’t have cut him open there though.  They cut him open everywhere else, why not on his cock or balls.  Maybe they had hurt him so badly that the nerve endings were fried – maybe Barry didn’t – couldn’t – feel much pleasure at all anymore.  Maybe it hurt instead.

            He wanted to ask Caitlin, because he was sure she must have seen when they first got him back from the facility that had him, but that was still too much of an invasion of Barry’s privacy, and as worried as Len was, he wasn’t going to do that.

 

 

            About a week afterwards, Len was taking a shower, and he came out in a towel, to find Barry lying in bed with a book.  He never changed in front of Barry unless he was wearing underwear, so he went to the drawers to grab clothes, was just leaning down to grab something, when suddenly Barry had his lips against his neck.

            Len turned slowly, and Barry sucked and bit lightly at his neck until he moved back.  Barry made a protesting noise as he was pulled away, until Len kissed him back.  They stood like that for a couple minutes, and Barry’s hands trailed over Len’s skin, collecting stray water droplets and mapping out over his back and shoulders until he went to Len’s chest instead.  Len broke away from the kiss to start sucking and biting down Barry’s jaw and collarbone.  Barry made soft noises against him.

            “That feels good,” he said, and Len took it as encouragement to bite more, to suck darker bruises against his skin. 

Barry started panting, the noises got louder, but he pulled away after a bit to mouth at Len’s neck and the top of his chest.  His hands spread out against Len’s chest and his fingers tentatively ran over Len’s nipples, and while Len wasn’t the most sensitive there, it still felt good.  He hummed against Barry. 

They went back to kissing, and then Barry’s hands wandered down to Len’s back, and they were pressed close together.  Barry shifted, slotting their bodies closely, and Len could feel his erection against his leg, covered by the towel, and Len’s was against Barry’s leg, and Len felt Barry press closer, felt him press just a little bit closer.  Barry’s fingers dipped down and the towel was low on Len’s hips.

“I – can I touch you?” Barry said, and it came out soft and almost desperate.

Len almost laughed.  “Scarlet, you can do whatever you want,” he said, mumbling against Barry’s mouth before kissing him again.

            Barry let his fingers slip low, under the towel, onto the top of Len’s ass, and he wished Barry would touch lower, and Barry was breathing hard, his body emitting so much heat next to Len’s, and every time he shifted it rubbed against Len’s cock, and Barry kept making these tiny shifts, these tiny squirming motions, like he was trying to press harder against Len’s leg with his cock without actually grinding.  And then a shudder of vibrations ran through Barry’s body, and Len moaned.

            And Barry wanted to touch Len.  He wanted to take the towel off and reach down and touch Len’s cock, wanted to touch him and see him and oh God he could feel him against him.  He wanted to shift so his cock would press against Len’s instead of Len’s leg and it felt so good and he could feel arousal churning low in his stomach, and for a minute all he could feel was Len’s lips against his and then on his neck and his cock pressing against Len’s leg and his fingertips over Len’s ass and Len biting at his skin.  He felt so hot, so overheated, and he was breathing hard and Len was pressed tight to him, arms wrapped around him and he wanted more, he wanted more, just a little bit more.

            And then everything slowed, and in a second, it went from overwhelming and just not enough, to way, way too much.

            He stepped back abruptly, and it felt like cold water washing over him even as his cock ached in protest.  And then he caught a look at Len’s face, startled, but still flushed, lips wet and eyes bright, that piercing blue, and another shot of arousal ran down his spine.  It made for a dizzying mix.

            “I need to stop,” Barry said, rushed, abrupt.  He took a couple breaths that were more like pants.  “I’m sorry,” he said, suddenly very aware that he was hard, and Len was hard, and they had just been almost rutting against each other, Barry had been rutting against him, and he felt a wash of guilt because his balls ached and he could only assume Len’s did too and Len had told him he wouldn’t go any farther than Barry wanted but Barry knew you didn’t start something like that when you didn’t intend to finish it.  “I’m sorry,” he said again.  “I – I can’t, I’m sorry.”

            He suddenly felt sick, felt like he was going to throw up.  “I’m sorry,” he said again, “I – I should have stopped sooner, I’m sorry, I –”  And Barry could still feel the friction against his cock, the way his cock rubbing against the fabric of his boxers and sweatpants, against Len’s leg, had felt, and it was a twin shot of arousal and repulsion that made him want to jerk off and throw up at the same time.  His hands were suddenly shaking, and he felt a shot of panic, and his cock was still hard.  He was hyperventilating, but his cock was hard, and it was that contrasting, conflicting feeling of fear and guilt combined with arousal that sent him into a complete panic.

            When Barry had first stepped back, it took Len a second to reorient himself.  And then Barry was apologizing, and Len was just kind of confused, and then all at once Len saw the panic in Barry’s eyes.

            “It’s OK,” Len said, and that was all it took, that one second for him to see the complete panic, the way Barry’s eyes were wide, scared, and it was like a bucket of ice water was dumped on him.  “Barry, what’s wrong?”

            “I – I’m sorry,” Barry said, and when Len took a step forward, moving instinctually to hold him, Barry flinched back, taking a couple steps back.

            “You don’t have to be sorry,” Len said, “Scarlet, what’s wrong?”

            “I – I –,” Barry said, and his eyes were darting, tunneling, and Len knew that look.

            “Barr-”

            And he was gone.  Len blinked, then spun, heard the door of the bathroom shut almost like an afterthought, and moved towards it.

            “Barry?  Scarlet, are you OK?”

            Len tried the doorknob, but it was locked.  He knocked on the door again.

            “Barry, are you alright?”

            He heard fast, labored breathing from inside, and rustling, and that was it.

            “Barry, can I come in?  Please?” Len said, at a loss.

            He started to hear crying, and Len let out a long breath to try to calm himself.

            “Barry, please let me help, Scarlet,” he said. 

            Len stood there, by the door, for another fifteen minutes, listening to Barry’s harsh breathing and gasping sobs.  No matter what he said, Barry didn’t answer, and while Len thought about just picking the lock, he didn’t like the way Barry had flinched from him earlier.  He didn’t want to scare Barry more by breaking in and getting closer to him then Barry wanted him.

            Eventually, Barry opened the door.  His eyes were red and puffy, and he stared at the ground, and even as he opened it he bit at his lip, like he was holding back another sob.

            Len didn’t move towards him this time.  He stayed where he was.

            “Scarlet?” he said, voice soft, “are you OK?”

            Barry nodded, and it was about the least believable nod Len had ever seen.

            “Barry, what’s wrong?” he said.  “Did I – did I do something?  Did I hurt you?”

            Barry shook his head.  “I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice cracked.

            “Scarlet, you don’t have to be sorry, I – what are you apologizing for?”

            Barry’s face went red.  “I – I should have stopped sooner.  I’m sorry.”

            “Barry, you don’t have to be sorry about that,” Len said, at a loss.  “Is it… was it too far?  Do you want – do you need me to stop sooner?”

            Barry shook his head.  “No, I – I didn’t – I didn’t say anything, I should have, I just –”

            “That was too much?” Len said, confused, “you – Barry, don’t let me keep going if you want to stop, I – I’m so sorry, Scarlet, I didn’t know that was too much, I –”

            “No, I – it wasn’t,” Barry said, “I should have – I should have said something because I – because I didn’t – I didn’t want to keep going so I should have said something sooner, before – because then – because it went too far and I didn’t want to finish it, so I shouldn’t have started it.”

            “Barry, you’re confusing me,” Len said, “I don’t understand.”

            “I started… I got you hard,” he said, and then blushed at it, “and you… you shouldn’t start what you won’t finish.”

            Len just looked at him for a second.  “Barry, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he said.  “I – I know you don’t want to do anything sexual and I could have asked you to stop at any time, Barry, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

            Barry ducked his head and didn’t look at all like he believed him, but Len was still so confused.

            “Barry, why – why did you run out though?” he said.

            “I – I don’t know,” Barry mumbled, “I wanted to stop.”

            “Did you want to stop before we did?” Len said, “I – please, Barry, please tell me when you want to stop, I won’t be mad, did you think – did you think I’d be mad because you didn’t want to – to ‘finish what you started’?”

            “No, not… I didn’t think you’d be _mad_ ,” Barry said.

            “I wouldn’t, Scarlet, I wasn’t, I’m not,” he said, “you can stop whenever you want, Barry, always, I don’t care when.”

            “I know,” he said, “I just… I just felt bad.”

            “Barry, please don’t ever do anything you’re not comfortable because you think it’s what I want,” Len said, at a loss, looking desperately at him, “Barry, I don’t want that.  Please, I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

            “I wasn’t,” he said, “I didn’t, Len.  I just… I felt bad afterwards.  I should have stopped sooner, before things got that… that heated.”

            “It’s OK,” Len said, “I’m not mad.  It’s not your fault.”

            “I wasn’t… I liked what we were doing when we were doing it,” Barry said, “I didn’t – I didn’t keep going then just because I thought you’d want me to.”

            “OK, that – good,” Len said, feeling relief at that at least, “good, you – you didn’t want to stop earlier then when you did stop?”

            Barry shook his head.

            “OK,” Len said, calming a little bit, “good, I – I don’t want you to do anything you don’t like.”

            “I didn’t,” Barry said, “I just – I didn’t mean to put you in that position – I didn’t mean to keep going so long when I – when I know I don’t want to keep going farther than that.”

            “I mean, I’d rather you not intentionally give me blue balls,” Len said, which almost got a bit of a smile, “but please don’t ever feel bad about stopping if you realize halfway through you want to stop.  I won’t be mad.  I promise I won’t even be irritated.   I want you to stop if you want to stop.”

            “I know,” Barry said, “I just… I didn’t mean to do that.”

            “It’s OK,” Len said, “I’m glad you stopped when you wanted to stop.”

            “Can… can we watch a movie?” Barry said.

            “Yeah,” Len said, “but are you OK?  Barry, you, I saw you, you panicked – what happened?”

            Barry looked away and shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I… I thought I messed up.”

            “You – with what?”

            “With not stopping soon enough.”

            “Barry I’d never be mad at you for that.”

            “I know, I just…”

            “Barry, you panicked,” Len said, “are you – is there something specific that happened?”

            “No,” Barry said, “I guess I just… I got overwhelmed.”

            “OK,” Len said, “do you… do you want me to stop?  Do you want me to stop us if things start getting too heated?”

            “No,” Barry said, “I’ll tell you when I want to, Len, I promise, I will – I do.”

            “OK, but… Barry, you just spent the last twenty minutes crying in the bathroom and wouldn’t let me in, Scarlet.  I… I don’t want this to happen again.”

            Barry flinched.  “I’m sorry,” he said again, quieter.

            “No, Barry, I’m not – I don’t want you to have to go through that again.  Please, I just… I don’t want to hurt you, Barry.”

            “You’re not.”

            “It really feels like I am,” Len said, “I don’t… are you pushing yourself for me?”

            “Pushing… what do you mean?”

            “Are you trying to do more?  Are you going farther than you’re really comfortable with to try to –”

            “No, Len,” Barry said, “I’m not – I’m not doing anything more than what I want. I’m not, I promise.”

            “OK,” Len said, “good, I… good.”

            “Can we watch a movie now?” Barry said.

            “Yeah,” Len said, “Yeah, we can do that.”


	13. Well, Who’s Fault Is It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> continuing trigger warnings from the last couple chapters, and you finally get to find out what happened...

            Len was so fucking confused.

            Whatever anxiety and panic that episode had dredged up, it seemed to leave again quickly.  Barry seemed perfectly fine the next day, kissed him the next morning, went to work, lay down with him in bed, curled against him again that night.  And later they started making out again, and Barry told him when he wanted to stop, and it was fine.  But Len couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened either.

            Len couldn’t figure out what was going on.  Panic attacks pointed to sexual abuse or sexual assault, but Barry said that hadn’t happened to him.  Maybe something had that he just didn’t consider rape.  He said he wasn’t asexual, but if he didn’t want to have sex, maybe Barry just thought he wasn’t asexual, maybe he didn’t want to admit he really was averse to sex.  Maybe the people who took him had cut or burned or damaged his cock and balls in some way and he was having flash backs.  Maybe he just didn’t want Len to see him, if he’d been injured there.

            Len didn’t want to nag at him though, and he also didn’t want to keep asking the same questions, have Barry get angry with him because he thought Len wasn’t listening, or didn’t believe him.

            But something was wrong.  It wasn’t something Len could just ignore, not with how frequently Barry seemed to be getting upset or scared now.  But Barry obviously didn’t want to talk about it, whatever it was, and Len didn’t want to press if Barry wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.

            So Len started being careful.

            He didn’t say anything else about it, but he was back to how he had been when they first started their relationship, back to being hypervigilant while they were kissing, making sure to only move slowly, to telegraph his movements when Barry was looking at him, to be very carefully not to be the first one to make any kind of step.  He waited until Barry tugged at Len’s shirt to take it off, waited for Barry to spread his fingers over Len’s chest before Len did the same, waited for Barry to straddle him or suck hickies against him, or anything else.  When they were kissing, he was always paying attention to Barry’s reactions, looking for signs of anxiety.

            Barry noticed.

            At first, he just noted that Len was being a little more passive than usual.  And then he realized he was being passive all the time.  And he didn’t like it.

            He liked when Len was a little bit rougher, bit a little bit harder at him, rubbed his nipples almost to the point of being uncomfortable, kissed him hard, grabbed him up when they got home and started kissing him.

            He didn’t anymore, and at first Barry was irritated at Len, and then he was upset with himself.  This was because he had freaked out.  This was because he didn’t know when to stop, because he couldn’t do what he wanted to, because he kept panicking, kept letting the stupid anxiety grab ahold of him, because he had freaked Len out with his own freaking out and now Len was babying him and he hated it.

            He tried to show Len he could handle it, tried to show him that he was calm, that he could stay calm.  It worked to some degree – if Barry started kissing him harder, if Barry started biting at his collarbone then Len would do the same.  Just not until Barry did first.

            “You can keep going,” Barry mumbled against him about a week later.

            Len hummed, but didn’t move from where he was kissing his jaw.

            “Len,” Barry said, “you can go harder.”

            Len started using more teeth, but it still wasn’t the way he had attacked Barry’s neck and collarbone and chest before.  Barry healed in an hour, so there was no need to worry about hiding marks, and Len had taken full advantage of that.  He bit and sucked and licked all over Barry’s skin, marking deep bruises.  And Barry loved it.

            “Len,” Barry said again, and this time Len stopped and looked up at him.  “You don’t need to be that gentle,” Barry said.

            “I don’t want it to be too much,” Len said.

            “It’s not too much,” Barry said, and he let out a huff, “it’s not enough.”

            That got a smirk, the old familiar smirk.  “What do you want me to do, Scarlet?”

            Barry flushed.  “I want you to go harder,” he said, voice quiet.  “Please.”

            Len paused.  “It’s fine?”

            “Yes.”

            “Are you su-”

            “Yes, Len, I’m sure.  I want you to be rougher, I want you to bite me, I want you to give me bruises, I like it, Len, you know I do.”

            And he smirked again, and then bit Barry’s shoulder.

            And Barry learned that if he wanted something he was going to have to explicitly ask for it now, which never failed to make him blush.  He missed when Len would take over though.

            And on top of all that, Barry was getting very, very frustrated.

            It kept getting so good, and Barry wanted to keep going, really, really wanted to keep going, but then he panicked, and he couldn’t, and it was so fucking frustrating.  As he started feeling better again, as the depression started to abate, his sex drive kicked up.  It had skyrocketed when he first became the Flash, a side effect that had alarmed him when he first woke up from his coma, but which he adjusted to over time.  It had been markedly lower after getting abducted and experimented on, a side effect of the anxiety and depression which followed him around now.  It had fluctuated as he got better, in concordance with his mood.

            And he was feeling better right now, which meant his sex drive was higher right now, which meant he was horny.  All the time. 

            It sucked.  In a very non literal sense.  And he wanted to keep going, but he couldn’t and it was starting to drive him insane and it was as upsetting as it was frustrating.  He didn’t want this to be another thing he had problems with.  He didn’t want to fail at this too.  He tried to pinpoint exactly what set him off and couldn’t, tried to make progress by himself and couldn’t, tried to figure out a way to tell Len without telling Len and couldn’t.

            He wanted to come when he was with Len.  And he wanted to touch Len and make him come.  And since he couldn’t seem to do the first one, he decided he was going to do the second if it killed him.

            And since Len was being passive – fine.  That would work just fine.

           

           

 

 

            They were kissing, and kept kissing for a while, both their shirts off a long time ago, and Len felt like his skin was burning, and then Barry’s hands went to the zipper of Len’s jeans.

            “Can I take these off?” Barry said.

            Len nodded against him, and Barry unzipped his jeans and then Len lifted his hips and Barry pulled them off him. 

            “Can – can I touch you?” Barry said.  His hands rested on Len’s thighs, and Len felt a surge of heat pool near the base of his spine but he stopped and pulled back for a second.

            “Do you want to?” he asked.

            “Yes,” Barry said.

            Len still paused.  “Are you sure?  I thought you didn’t want to do anything sexual?”

            “I want to touch you,” Barry said.

            “OK,” Len breathed.

            “OK?”

            “Yes.”

            Barry touched hesitantly, and Len had a second to be concerned at that, at the way he seemed to hold his breath, and then Barry was palming him through his boxers, and he moaned.

            He kept palming him while they kept kissing, and then stopped to tug at the waistband of his boxers.

            “Can I take these off?” he asked, and this time his face was flushed, his voice rushed and eager, and Len had no doubts this time that he wanted it.

            “Do you want to take these off first?” he asked, and he hooked his thumbs in the beltloops of Barry’s jeans.

Barry’s face flushed.  “I really want to touch you.”

            “I want to make you feel good too,” Len said.

            Barry smiled at him.  “I do feel good,” Barry said.

            Len started to frown though.  “You don’t want me to touch you too?”

            Barry hesitated.  “No,” he said after a moment though, “no, I – not right now.”

            “OK,” Len said.

            “So can I take these off?”

            “If you want to.”

            “I want to.”

            And Len believed him, could see the desire in Barry’s eyes, pupils big, face flushed.  He started pulling Len’s boxers off of him.

            Len watched Barry’s face when he saw Len’s erection.  Barry let out a long breath and his face flushed red again, and there was no anxiety in his expression, just want and lust.

            Barry’s eyes flicked up at him, and Len smirked.  And then Barry hesitated again, but only for a second before touching Len’s cock, fingers sliding down the length at first, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them, and then he formed a loose fist, and slid Len’s cock through it.  Len let out a groan.

            By the time Len came, Barry felt hot to the point of feverish, and the surge of triumph at making Len cum was overlaid with arousal.  Len cleaned himself up briefly with some tissues, and then pulled Barry into his lap, his back against Len’s chest.  One of Len’s hands ran across Barry’s chest, and the other rested on his thigh.

            Len kissed his neck, bit lightly there.  Barry shivered and groaned, and then vibrated.

            “Shit, Barry,” Len said.  He moved uncomfortably under him.  “Not quite ready for round two yet,” he mumbled, and then sucked just under Barry’s ear.

            “Ah – well then you – you shouldn’t…” Barry said, but he trailed off, eyes closing as Len’s thumb ran across his nipple, as his other hand moved back and forth on his thigh, so close to his crotch.

            “Hm?” Len said, a smirk on his face.

            “Shut up,” Barry said.

            Len kept biting at him, kept kissing him, kept playing with one nipple then the next until Barry was vibrating again, desperate.  And then he turned over abruptly, speed force mixing in there, so he was straddling Len instead.

            He ground down against Len’s thighs, pressing his cock against him.  Len had pulled his boxers back on, and Barry still had jeans on, the fabric tight and long past uncomfortable now.  It was near painful.

            Just his jeans, Barry decided.  He’d slept in boxers next to Len plenty of times.  He could take off his jeans.  It was fine.  They were just so uncomfortable now.   He fumbled for the zipper, and once he started unbuttoning them Len’s hands went over Barry’s, helping him.

            Barry kicked the jeans off, and that was so much better, so much better and he ground down against Len again and it felt so good, seemed to light up the nerves across his whole body. 

            “Touch me,” Barry said.  He pulled away from where Len was kissing his collarbone and kissed him on the lips instead.  “Len,” he said.

            “Are you sure?” Len said.

            “Yes,” Barry said, and it didn’t occur to him at that moment how he could be not sure, his whole body was on fire and Len was there, Len was right there underneath him, yes, of course he wanted him to touch him, he’d never wanted anything more in his life, how could someone not want him to touch them?

            “OK,” Len said, and his voice was light, so different than usual, and Barry wanted to make fun of him for it, wanted to make some joke about him getting so flustered over his cock, but then Len pressed his hand against Barry through his briefs and Barry groaned.

            “Yes,” he said, and Len pulled down the underwear and Barry moved to let him, and then Len wrapped his hand around Barry’s cock.

            Len stroked up once, and then Barry was across the room.

            Len froze.  “Barry?” he said.  He had one second to take in the terrified, sickened expression on Barry’s face, and then Barry was gone.

            A second later he heard retching.  He found the bathroom door locked, sounds of Barry throwing up inside.  He knocked on it.

            “Barry, are you OK?”  Barry didn’t answer, and as the retching stopped it turned to broken sobs, and Len had the horrible feeling of having been there before, exactly like this, and how did he manage to do this again, how had he screwed up this badly again.  He knocked almost frantically.  “Barry, please let me in,” Len said.  “Please let me help, are you OK?”

            Once again he didn’t answer.  And Len put his hands over his face and leaned against the door, left to listen to Barry’s sobs from the other side.

 

 

 

 

            Barry didn’t stop crying for a while.  And then it was even longer until he came out.  This time he opened the door slowly, hesitantly, and then he flashed out.  Len stood up quickly, afraid he was leaving, but a second later Barry came into focus standing a few feet in front of him, wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt now.  His eyes were still red, and he was looking at the floor, face flushed bright red, hands playing with the edge of the sweatshirt.

            “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

            Len’s mouth opened.  He walked up, froze for a second, then hesitantly reached out, but when Barry leaned forward instead of away Len wrapped him in a hug.  He held him silently for a minute.

            “I am so sorry, Barry,” Len said.  His voice was quiet, close to wavering.           

            “You don’t have to be sorry,” Barry said, “I – I’m – I freaked out.  I’m sorry. I ruined things. I – I’m –”

            “You didn’t ruin anything.  You didn’t do anything wrong.  I’m just – I’m so sorry.  It’s OK.  I’m not – I won’t hurt you.”

            “I know you won’t hurt me,” Barry said.

            “But I did,” Len said.

            “No, you didn’t,” Barry said, “I freaked out, I just – I…”

            Len waited.  He kept waiting, but Barry didn’t finish the statement.

            “Please tell me what happened,” Len said after a long moment.  “Please tell me what I need to do.”

            “I don’t know,” Barry said.

            “Was that –”

            “It wasn’t too much,” Barry said, “it was me.  I’m sorry.  It’s just me.”

            Len leaned back far enough to give him a horrible sad, disbelieving look, and Barry suddenly felt like shit. 

            “I’m sorry,” Barry said, and his voice cracked, and he was angry at himself all over again, angry that he couldn’t do this, angry that he’d ruined this too, angry that even when everything was going good he still managed to fuck it all up, to ruin it all, to –

            “I don’t want to keep hurting you,” Len said.

            “You’re not hurting me.”

            “Barry, I can’t keep doing this,” Len said, and suddenly his voice was loud and Barry’s eyes widened, surprised.  Len took a step back, ran a hand over his face.  “I can’t keep watching you panic because of things I do – I need you to tell me when to stop, Barry.  Please.  Please, tell me what I can do.”

            “I’m sorry,” Barry said, and his voice was small now.  “I don’t… I thought it be fine.  And then… then it wasn’t.”

            “Barry, if you don’t want to do anything sexual then that’s fine, that’s – that’s perfectly fine,” Len said, at a loss.

            “But I _do_ ,” Barry said.

            And the look Len gave him, of utter confusion mixed with pain and guilt.  “Barry, please tell me what’s going on.”

            “I have to go,” Barry said.  The world was suddenly tunneling again.  “I’m sorry,” he said, “I love you.  I’m sorry.”

            “Barry –”

            But then he was gone.

 

 

 

 

            Iris was sitting in her apartment, reading a book.  It was raining outside, and Eddie was working late, and Iris was not expecting anyone, when there was a knock, and she opened the door to see a shivering, soaking wet Barry Allen.

            “Barry, what are you doing here?” she asked, opening the door wide to let him in.  He stumbled through and hugged himself, shivering almost violently.

            But he looked up and his eyes were scared, were anxious and sad and ashamed and pained and scared.  “I need to tell you something,” he said, and it came out stuttered, whispered.

            “OK,” she said, “OK, but let’s get you dry first, OK?  In warm clothes.  I’ll get something of Eddie’s.  You’re not –”  She paused, looked him up and down, dripping on her tile floor, shivering.  “You’re not hurt, are you?” she asked, her tone hardening a little, her expression searching.

            He shook his head.  “No.”

            “OK,” she said, still looking for any obvious signs of injury.  But he didn’t appear hurt.  “OK, let’s get you some clothes.”

           

 

            She found him a sweater and sweatpants that would fit him, and he toweled off and changed in the bathroom while she made tea.  She made him sit down on the couch when he was changed.  He fiddled with his hands, eyes down, not meeting her gaze.

            “What did you want to tell me?” she asked.

            Barry shook his head.  He took a deep breath, then gasped it out again.  His eyes darted up, but then were gone just as fast, going around the room. 

            “Barry,” she said.  She took his hand.  He placed the tea she had given him down on the coffee table before he spilled it.  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

            “I – I need to tell you something,” he said.  He shook his head, tried to smile.  “I – I don’t – I didn’t want – I didn’t want to talk about it, but I…”  He squeezed his eyes shut, and mashed his hands against his face, “I don’t know what to do.”

            “OK,” Iris said, “then why don’t you just tell me what it is, Barry.  It’s OK.  Whatever it is, it’ll be OK.  Let me help, OK, Barry?  Let me help you.”

            He was scaring her.  But he still didn’t look injured, wasn’t wincing, wasn’t shielding any body part.  She didn’t think he was hurt and if he wasn’t hurt than whatever it was, she could deal with.  If it was something that had already happened… well, she had learned a lot about what had happened since he was back, especially in the past couple months as he started to talk more.  She thought he had been afraid of scaring her – she remembered the first times he told her anything about what happened to him – he would always wait for her reaction.  And it had killed her, but she had stayed calm, had listened and not freaked out, and as a result he had talked more, had grown more comfortable talking with her about the nightmares and the flashbacks and some of the memories that just got stuck in his head and wouldn’t go away until he talked about it.  She took his hand again and squeezed.

            “I’m sorry,” he burst, “I – I didn’t – I don’t – it’s not a big deal – it shouldn’t – it shouldn’t be a big deal, it wasn’t, but now – it wasn’t at first, it really – it just wasn’t.”

            “OK,” Iris said, still holding his hand.  He was getting teary now, was wiping at his eyes.  “But it is now?” she said in a steady voice.

            He nodded bitterly.  “It wasn’t as bad,” he said, and his eyes squeezed shut, “it wasn’t as painful… I… I don’t want to talk about it.”  And he burst into tears.

            “Barry,” she said, and she pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around her and he sobbed into her shoulder.  “It’s OK,” she said, “you don’t have to tell me.  You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Barry, it’s OK.”

            He cried and then he shook his head.  “I do,” he said, “I – I don’t know what to do, Iris.”

            She frowned.  “Is there a problem now?”

            He nodded against her.

            “Is it… something leftover.  Something… like an old injury?”

            Barry shook his head.

            “Something you’re anxious about now?”

            A nod.

            “And you said it wasn’t an issue before but is now?”

            Another nod.

            “How come it’s just come up now?”

            He shook his head.

            “Don’t want to talk about it?”

            He shook his head fiercely.

            “OK –” she started.

            “But I have to,” he burst out, and that started more crying.  “I have to,” he mumbled.

            “Why do you have to?” she asked.

            He shook his head.

            “Would you rather tell someone else?” she asked.  “Would it be easier with your therapist?  Have you told your therapist?”

            He shook his head.

            “Would you like to tell her?”

            Another hard shake of his head.

            “How about Dad?”

            No.

            “Len?”

            That got a pause, then another hard shake of his head, before he started to tremble.

            That surprised her.  Usually he found it easier to talk to Len – had started talking to him about things really before anyone else.

            “You wouldn’t rather tell Len?” she asked.

            He shook his head, and she paused.

            “Are you two fighting?” she asked.

            There was a pause, then a slow nod.  Iris frowned.  They hadn’t really had a big fight at all – they argued, sure, and Iris knew that Len could push – could push Barry when he didn’t want to be pushed and needed to be, and he could lash out, especially around medical situations, but they hadn’t really had a fight yet.

            “Do you want to tell me what it’s about?” she asked, thinking maybe if she could get him talking at all then it might be easier for him to tell her what was wrong later.

            But he shook his head again.

            “When did you start fighting?” she asked.  It was a question to make him talk – to get him to answer instead of the nodding and shaking his head.

            “Today,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet.

            “And you don’t want to talk about it at all?” she said.  “You know, I tell you all about my fights with Eddie.”  She tried to go for a smile, but didn’t get one.  He just didn’t say anything, and Iris got a bad feeling in her stomach.

            “Is it serious?” she asked.

            “No.  Maybe – I don’t know,” he mumbled.

            Iris frowned and rubbed his back.  “You’ll work it out.  You want to work it out, right?”

            He nodded, quickly.  “I want to, I just –”  His voice cracked.  “I don’t know how,” he whispered.

            “How about you start with what the fight was about.”

            Barry shook his head.

            “Well, who’s fault is it?”

            His eyes went down.  “It was my fault,” he mumbled.

            “Mm, I’ll be the judge of that,” she said, which got a flicker of a smile out of him.  “What did you do?”

            The smile was gone.  He looked down, paused for a while.  “I lied to him,” he said, voice quiet again.

            “Ooh,” she said, wincing, “about?”

            He shook his head.

            “Oh, come on, Barry,” she said.

            “Something about… about me… about…” he sighed.  “About them.  When they took me.”

            She frowned.  “He has to understand that,” she said, “I mean, lying is obviously not good, but if you’re upset, and you…”  she trailed off.  “Is this the same thing as what you came here to tell me?” she asked suddenly, surprised,

            He nodded miserably.  Iris’s mind started to whirl.  “Barry,” she said.

            “I lied to him about it, and now – now he – he wants me to tell him…” he trailed off.  “And I – I can’t.  I – I don’t know how, it’s – but I – I don’t know, Iris, I don’t want to, I’m scared.”

            She hugged him again.  “That’s not fair of him, Barry,” she said, “he shouldn’t push you like that.  You should tell him you’re not ready to talk about it and to drop it.”

            Barry shook his head.  “He said… he said he’s hurting me,” he said, “and he doesn’t… he doesn’t want to keep hurting me – that he won’t, and – it’s my fault, I kept lying, I said I was fine, and I wasn’t, but I didn’t know what to do, and I…”

            “You should tell him you’re not ready to talk about it,” she said, and then frowned.  “What do you mean by he said he keeps hurting you?  What’s he doing, Barry?”

            Barry didn’t talk.  He looked everywhere but at Iris.

            “Is that the thing you don’t want to talk about?” she asked slowly, “what he’s doing to you?  Is it the same as what you don’t want to talk about?”

            Barry nodded.  Iris paused.

            “Is he physically hurting you?”

            Barry shook his head, looking up sharply.  “Len would never do that, Iris, he –”

            “I meant from an old injury,” she said, “if he was hurting you without realizing it – without meaning to.”

            “Oh,” he said, and then shook his head.  “No.”

            “So he’s doing something else that’s hurting you emotionally?” she said.  “Or talking about something that makes you upset?  But he doesn’t know exactly what it is, so he can’t stop himself from doing it?”

            He nodded.

            “OK,” she said, “maybe you should tell him you’ll just tell him to stop, when he does or says whatever it is that’s bothering you, when he starts to talk about it, tell him that you’ll tell him to stop, and then you won’t get upset, but that you’re not ready to talk about it.”

            Barry shook his head again, and bit his lip.  “It’s too sudden, I – I panic.”

            “Right away?”

            He nodded.  “Usually.  Sometimes not, but… but then he does stop.  That’s not… it’s when I panic, that’s the problem.”

            She nodded.  “Why’d you come to tell me first?” she asked.  “You obviously don’t want to talk about it at all, and you usually have an easier time talking about it with Len then anyone else anyway.”

            Barry looked down.  “Not this time.”

            Iris just looked at him.  She was at a loss.  “Do you want to tell me now?” she asked.

            He shook his head, and Iris paused. 

            “Do you want me to talk to Len for you – explain that you can’t talk about it right now – that you tried, but you really just can’t yet.”

            Barry shook his head fast.  His thoughts were running all over the place, but between the situations with Len and what he’d just told Iris he was afraid that if they got together they’d both figure it out, and Barry – Barry wasn’t ready for that – all at once, them, without him being there, without him telling them, it wasn’t that bad – it wasn’t that bad, it wasn’t even really painful most of the time, it –

            “And you’re sure there wouldn’t be someone easier to talk to about it?” Iris asked.  “Your therapist?  Maybe Caitlin since she’s your doctor?”

            Barry shook his head.

            Iris paused.  “A hotline?” she asked.  “Maybe you could tell them, and they could give you advice on what to do or how to talk to someone else about it?  Would it be easier with a stranger?”

            Barry shook his head again.  He definitely didn’t want that.

            Iris took a deep breath.  “Do you want to write it down?  Would that be easier?”

            He shook his head, with a sickening roll to his stomach.  He thought that would probably be worse.

            They were quiet for a minute.  Iris had run out of ideas, was trying to come up with another.  Barry was staring at the ground.  He didn’t want to talk about it – had never wanted to tell any of them.  When he first got back it just hadn’t seemed like a big deal – they had done so much worse, had put him through so much worse pain – it was easy to shove it to the back of his mind and forget it there, but now – he didn’t know, didn’t know what to do.  It was getting worse, was getting worse and not better and it hadn’t been a big deal but now he wanted to be better and he wasn’t and he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to do.  And Len wouldn’t leave it alone – he wouldn’t go back, he’d keep at it, and even if he didn’t, if he left it alone, it would come up again, it would keep coming up, and Barry didn’t know what to do, couldn’t tell Len, couldn’t tell anyone, couldn’t deal with it – it was stupid, he was stupid, didn’t even hurt as much, wasn’t even a big deal, hadn’t been a big deal this whole time, had honestly and genuinely not been something Barry had thought about much when he first got back, it really hadn’t seemed like a big deal and now it was and Barry didn’t know what to do, didn’t know.  Len would keep at it, it would keep coming up, it would keep happening, he’d tried to get better, tried, and he was getting worse and it would keep happening and keep going and he couldn’t lose Len over it, couldn’t over not telling him, couldn’t keep going, couldn’t keep not saying anything, couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t –

            “They touched me.”

            It was out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying and Iris was looking at him and he could feel his heart pounding in his ears, could feel his face draining of color, the dizzying wash of adrenaline as fear and shame and anticipation rolled through his system and Iris just stared back at him for one long moment.

            “They touched you?”

            Iris watched him, was taken back by his sudden outburst, when she had been lost in thought and he had looked like he had been too – and then slowly, so much slower than how abruptly he had spoken, a very sick, very bad feeling crept up her spine and filled her stomach.

            Barry saw the realization as it entered her face, saw it enter slow, and underneath the pounding in his ears he didn’t know if that was because she was realizing it slowly or because he had tapped into the speed force without meaning to.  He started to shake.

            They touched him.  The meaning was dizzying, and Iris looked at him, saw the look on his face, saw it, and realized that this was important, that how she reacted was important, and she very calmly took his hand and very calmly kept eye contact and very calmly swallowed around the gag rising in her throat, and very calmly –

            “They touched you – touched you sexually?”

            And he _nodded_.

            And Iris didn’t need the nod.  She could already see it on his face.  See it the moment the words left her mouth.  But he nodded, and Iris nodded.

            “OK,” she said.

            OK, OK, what was she doing, what was she saying?  Inside her head a dozen voices were screaming.  No – no, you don’t – what do you say, what do you say to someone – I’m sorry – no, stupid – That’s awful – obviously, but this was Barry – Barry, her Barry, no, not her Barry, not him, not after all this – and she didn’t have a speech for this, didn’t know what to say – this wasn’t a smashed kneecap or a surgery or dislocated arm, it wasn’t pain it was something different – just as awful, probably more awful, and it was Barry – was Barry, her brother, her best friend, her –

            “I love you,” she said.  There were tears in her eyes and she didn’t know what to do but she knew what she wanted and she wanted him there and she pulled him forward again, was hugging him again and he was shaking hard, wasn’t crying, not yet, but shaking hard.  “I love you and I’ll always love you and it’s going to be OK and I –” she stopped.  “It’s OK,” she said, her voice steady, how the fuck was it steady.  “It’s OK,” she said again.  Her voice was quiet, quiet and steady even as tears were in her eyes and her hands trembled.  “I’m here.”

            Barry breathed through his mouth.  Iris could hear him, the breathing of someone trying not to sob, trying to stay quiet.  It was silent except for their breathing.

            “It’s OK,” Iris said, “you can cry.  I’m here.  It’s OK.”

            So he let out a choked sob.  And Iris held him.

            “It’s OK.”

            Another sob.

            “I’m here.”

            And then he started to cry.  He shook with it.  He cried for a long time then, and Iris held him, and he shook and cried.  She waited for him to stop.

            “I’m so sorry this happened to you,” she said when he did, when her voice was steadier, when the knowledge that he had revealed to her had settled into horrific and terrible and shocked and out of numb and shocked and horrific.  She petted his hair, rocked him slightly.  “I’m so, so sorry this happened to you,” she continued, “it’s awful, and it’s not your fault, and it’s going to be OK.  It’s going to be OK, Barry.”

            “I didn’t want to tell anyone,” he said, choked out, gasped.  “I didn’t want – I was never going to tell anyone.  I don’t – I don’t want to be this thing, I want to be me, I don’t want you to look at me an-and s-see–,”

            “I see you,” she said.  “I see Barry.  I see you, my best friend.  You’re still Barry,” she said, “you’re still you.  I’m glad you told me.  It’s awful, and I’m – it’s horrible, Barry, and I feel sick for you, but it’s going to be OK.  I know it’s going to be OK.”

            He was silent for a minute.  “How do you know what to say?” he mumbled.

            And Iris smiled a tiny bit and carefully leaned back, waited to make sure Barry was Ok with that, waited until she could see him – his eyes red, face tear-stained, but it was still him, still her Barry.

            “Because I know you,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote the part with Iris literally months and months ago, so if it doesn't seem to quite match up that's probably why - and also so Barry wasn't actually lying when he said he wasn't raped, he just doesn't consider what they did to have been rape (which is not really an accurate view, but anyway) when he said he lied, he meant more about insisting he was fine.
> 
> Anyway, let me know your thoughts! Hopefully I'll have more out soon! Thanks for reading :)


	14. I'm Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So if you didn't see the warnings by now... this one is worse. It'll keep being in here. Please be aware. See the warnings. There's a giant list of them in the first chapter's author notes. I don't just write those things for fun, they do serve an actual purpose. 
> 
> Anyway, here you go - I was really worried about how the last chapter went, but I got such nice comments from everyone that you all inspired me to write more (and quickly) :) so hope you enjoy!

            “How about I just ask questions, and you can nod or shake your head?” Iris said.  She had gotten them both more tea, and gave Barry a blanket, and Barry said he wanted to talk about it now, but he didn’t know how to, and he was getting back into that silent, almost mute mind frame, where it was hard to coax anything out of him, and Iris thought this would be easier for him.

            “OK,” he said.

            “When we were talking earlier,” Iris said, “before I knew what you were talking about, you said it wasn’t that bad – that it didn’t hurt as much.  Did they hurt you – hurt you physically, I mean, obviously that hurt you – but did they…”  She took a deep breath, maybe this was going to be harder for her than she thought.  “Alright, let’s start simple.  Did they cut you there?”

            Barry shook his head, and Iris took in another breath.  At least that was good.

            “Did they hurt you in any other way?  Physically, I mean?”

            Barry nodded.

            Iris frowned.  “Did they…”  She felt a sickening lurch in her stomach.  “Did they put anything… inside you?”

            Barry winced, wouldn’t look her in the eye, and nodded.

            “Did that hurt you?  Physically?”

            Barry frowned, started to shake his head, and then stopped, thinking.

            “Was it just uncomfortable?  But not really painful?” Iris asked.

            She got a nod then.

            “OK,” Iris said.  “Do you want to tell me anything else about that?”

            Barry paused.  “They… that was… they did a prostate exam… I – I think.  And they – a colonoscopy, I think.  So it – it was uncomfortable, and the – the colonoscopy hurt – not that bad, but it… it hurt some.”

            “OK,” Iris said, “do you still want to keep talking?”

            Barry nodded.  “But you… can you just keep asking questions?” he said.

            “Yeah,” Iris said, “I can do that.  I just… I don’t need to know if you’re not ready to talk about it, and Len –”  Barry looked down at the mention of him.  “Len doesn’t need to either, you don’t have to tell him everything right now, Barry, and I don’t think he’ll ask you to.  But even if he does, you don’t have to tell him, Barry.  If you don’t want to.”  She watched as Barry kept looking down, playing with the edge of his shirt.  “But if you want to talk,” she said, “then I’m here, and I’ll always be here, and I’ll always listen, too.  It’s just, you’re not talking much, and I don’t mean to press you, Barry.”

            But Barry looked up then, and shook his head.  “No, I – I think – I want to… to talk a little about it… I just… it’s hard.  I like when you ask questions, and I can just nod.  Or I can add stuff if I want to.”

            “OK,” Iris said, “we’ll do that then.”  She saw Barry relax a little at that, and she reached over to touch his leg.  “OK,” she said, “so they… that’s the only time they touched… inside you?”

            Barry nodded.

            “So they didn’t… was this all… all clinical?  No one… no one seemed to touch you for their pleasure?”

            Barry winced again, but shook his head, then stopped, and looked unsure.

            “Maybe they did?” Iris asked.

            Barry nodded slowly, seemed to shrink a little bit, brow furrowed.

            “Was it all clinical, but they seemed to… like their job too much?”

            Barry nodded, slow again, and Iris felt a shiver of repulsion.  She took a deep breath.  “So they… they were clinical though, for the most part.  So did they… they ran experiments?  Like with everything else?”

            Barry nodded.

            “Was it often?” she asked.  “Or just a couple of times?”

            Barry shrugged.

            “More than a couple times but not really often?”  He nodded.  “And it was for experiments?  Did that ever… did they hurt you – physically – when they touched you there?”

            Barry paused, winced, and nodded. 

            “But not by cutting you – they didn’t… were they… rough?”

            Barry paused, shook his head slowly, unsure again.

            “But they hurt you physically there?”  Barry nodded.  “Do you want to tell me about it?” she said, “I don’t think I’m going to guess it.”

            Barry opened his mouth, and then closed it again.  He swallowed hard.  “Well, I… I had a catheter.”  He made a face, winced.

            “Ouch,” she said.

            “Yeah, not pleasant,” he said, “they weren’t… you know, exactly gentle.”

            “Was that the only thing that hurt, though?” she asked.

            Barry shook his head, and Iris could see his face going red, his shoulders sinking, looking away from her.

            “Can you tell me about what else hurt you,” she said.  She took his hand.  “If you want to.  You don’t have to.”

            He was silent for a little bit.  “When they…” he stopped, swallowed hard.  “The… experiments, it was… I think at first they, uh… they wanted a sample.”  He swallowed again.  “So that… that wasn’t – didn’t hurt.  Just… I…”

            He started to breathe a little heavy, closed his eyes.  He could feel the hand on him, the familiar squelch of anxiety as they pulled the catheter out accompanied by the twinge of pain it caused.  But then there was a hand – a gloved hand, on his penis.  It stayed there.  Instead of letting go it came back and then there was something on him – like the lubricant they used for the catheter, except on him, on him, and he could feel the hand and he didn’t know what they were doing, and then the horror – the horror of realization as the hand moved, the gloved hand moved and he –

            He bolted upright and was in the bathroom throwing up in a second.  Iris was there a moment later, a hand on his back as he stopped, practically fell to his knees by the toilet, gagging up bile and then dry heaving until he finally stopped, leaning back against the bathroom wall, panting, covered in sweat.

            “Are you alright?” she said, “OK – sorry, stupid question, is – it’s OK.  I’m sorry.  You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready, Barry, you didn’t –”

            “Stop,” he said, shaking his head.  “No – I – I wanted to, I – I just – I thought – I got stuck.”  He felt tears gather in his eyes because now he couldn’t stop feeling it, the hand on him, gloved hand, the feel of it, _wrong, wrong, wrong_.

            “It’s OK,” Iris said, taking him in her arms again and he tried to focus on that, on the feel of her hands on his arms, his back, the weight of her, her smell.  He wasn’t there, he wasn’t there.

            He couldn’t breathe.  “I’m scared,” he said.

            “It’s OK,” she said.  “You’re OK.  Just breathe.”

            He managed to do it, to stop it from being a full-fledged panic attack, but he still felt sick, and he decided that was enough for one day, and he didn’t want to talk about it any longer. 

            But he did feel better for telling her.  He did feel better, and he didn’t want to leave.  He wanted Iris there with him.  They moved back to the couch, and Iris held his hand, and didn’t ask any more questions after he said he didn’t want to talk about it anymore that night.

            “Are you going to tell Len?” she asked.  “I could tell him for you if you want.  Just what you want me to tell him.  I don’t have to tell him everything you just told me.”

            Barry shook his head.  “I’ll tell him,” he said, “but… but maybe you could come with me?”  He looked up, hopeful.

            “Of course I can,” she said, “of course, Barry.  I’ll come with you.”

            “And… I’m not ready for anyone else to know,” he said, “so…”

            “I won’t tell anyone else.”

            Barry looked at her.  “Not even Eddie?”

            “I won’t tell Eddie if you don’t want me to,” she said.  She didn’t like keeping secrets from him, but she would tell him that Barry had told her something, but he wasn’t ready to tell everyone else yet, and Eddie would accept that – wouldn’t pry. 

            Barry nodded at her.  “OK,” he said.

            “When do you want to tell Len?” Iris asked.

            Barry looked down.  “I don’t… what do you think he’ll say?”  He looked up at her anxiously, scared, and obviously embarrassed, ashamed.  She squeezed his hand.

            “I think he’ll say he’s so sorry that happened to you, and that he really wants to kill the bastards that did it.”

            Barry huffed a laugh.  “You think so?  You don’t think…”  He trailed off.

            “He loves you, Barry,” Iris said, “even this – even this fight – it’s just because he loves you.”  Barry still looked unsure.  “What are you afraid he’ll say, Barry?” she asked.

            “I don’t know,” Barry mumbled.  “That I… that I’m disgusting.”

            “Barry,” Iris said, almost sharply, and he looked up.  “He would never say that.  And if he did he would be an asshole.  You are not disgusting because of something that was done to you out of your control.”

            “But I…” _I liked it._   “I feel disgusting,” he said quietly.

            “Yeah, well, that’s because you have a screwed up sense of responsibility, and because something horrible happened to you, and you’re still dealing with the fallout,” she said, “it’s normal to feel that way, but that doesn’t make it true.  You’re not disgusting, Barry.  This wasn’t your fault.”

            Barry shuddered.  “I’m afraid he’ll think I’m damaged.”

            “Barry,” Iris said, and once again her voice was sharp.  “You are not damaged, you are not – this wasn’t your fault, Barry, and you’re not… you had something horrible happen to you, and it’s OK that you’re still dealing with that.  It’s OK that you’re having problems with it now.  It’s OK.  It doesn’t make you damaged.  You’re not damaged.  Len won’t think you are, and even if he did, then you better dump that ass right that second because in that case he doesn’t deserve you one bit.”

            Barry’s mouth quirked up in a smile.  “Yeah?”

            “Yes,” she said, “you are an intelligent, compassionate, funny, dorky, attractive guy and if he thought you were damaged because of something that happened to you that you couldn’t control then he’s nowhere near good enough for you.”

            “You called me attractive.”

            She hit him.

            “Ow.”

            “If you tell him,” she said, “when you tell him, I’m 95 percent sure it will go absolutely fine.  And if for some reason it doesn’t, I’ll be there, and you can run us back here or to Dad’s, and we’ll eat ice-cream.”

            Barry huffed another laugh, and at that moment the door opened.

            “Hi Iris, I – oh, hi, Barry,” Eddie said.  He was carrying groceries, which he placed on the kitchen counter before returning to the living room.  He opened his mouth, then got a look at Barry’s face and shut it again.  His expression changed and he looked between Iris and Barry.  “Everything OK?”

            Iris looked at Barry.  “We’re OK now,” she said, and Barry tried to give a smile, but it wasn’t very reassuring.

            “OK,” Eddie said.  “I was gonna make pasta – are you staying, Barry?”

            “I don’t want to overstay…” Barry started.

            “You’re not,” Iris said.  She looked back at Eddie. “Is there enough for Barry too?”

            “Not for a speedster,” Eddie said, “but plenty for a regular meal.”

            “I’ve got Cisco bars,” Barry said, “I’ll eat one of those too.”

            “In that case, then yeah, there’s plenty,” Eddie said, giving a smile.  “I’m going to start making it.”

            He went back into the kitchen and Barry turned to Iris, biting at his lip.  “Um, would it… would it be OK if I stay on the couch here… just tonight?” he asked.

            Iris frowned.  “We could go back to Dad’s.  I’ll stay with you in your room if you want.”

            Barry felt a wave of relief at the suggestion.  “Yeah – that, would that be OK?” he asked.  “I… that would be really nice.  I’m sorry, about – I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t apologize,” she said, “I’ll tell Eddie you had a rough day.  We can go back to Dad’s after dinner, OK?”

            Barry nodded, grateful.  “Thank you,” he said.

            She shook her head.  “You don’t need to thank me,” she said, and she hugged him.  “Barry, I meant what I said. I love you.  I’ll always love you.  I want to help you, and if staying with you at Dad’s for one night will help you I’m pretty sure it’s not going to kill me to be away from Eddie for one night.”

            Barry just hugged her back.  “Thank you,” he said again, “for everything.”

 

 

 

 

 

            Barry called Len the next morning, before going into work.

            “Hi, Len, it’s – um, it’s me.”

            “Are you OK?”

            The obvious worry made Barry cringe.  “Yeah, I’m – I’m sorry.  I’m really sorry.  I – I went and saw Iris.  She stayed with me last night.  I’m OK.”

            “That’s – good, just… I’m glad you’re OK.”

            “Yeah, I’m fine, I – I’m sorry, for running out like that, I just… I didn’t… I want – Joe won’t be home and I – can you come over to my house tonight?  And um… Iris is going to come too, I… I just… I’m sorry, it’s – I’m OK, I’m making it sound like I’m dying or something, I’m fine, I just, I talked… I talked to her last night and I want – I want to talk to you, but… are you free?  Tonight?  Like, around five? Or maybe six, if you’re busy, we could probably do six, or, I didn’t ask, I don’t know if Iris has to leave and I –”

            “I can be there at five, Scarlet.”

            “Oh… OK.  Good, um, so I’ll – I’ll see you then?  And just… to talk.  I know, I’m sorry, I’m making it sound like I have cancer or something, or I’m beaking up with you – which I’m not!  That’s – that’s not at all what I’m… I just mean, that’s not at all it, and, and I’m OK – I’m OK, I’m not -I’m not hurt either, not hurt or anything, just… I’m sorry, I ran out last night, I didn’t – I’m sorry.  I didn’t think.  I know – I’m sure I scared you and I didn’t – I didn’t want to do that, I’m sorry.”

            “It’s OK,” Len said, cutting him off before he could continue rambling on, “I’ll see you at five, though?”

            “Yeah, yeah, five.  I’ll, I’ll see you then.”

            “OK.  I love you, Barry.  You know… I love you, and that’s not changing anytime soon, Scarlet, OK?  And… nothing’s going to change that, OK?”

            “I…” Barry said, and his throat closed up just a little.  “OK,” he said softly, “I – I love you to.  I do, I’m – I’m sorry about last night, and making you worry.  I should have called.  I’m sorry.”

            “It’s OK,” Len said, “as long as you’re safe.”

            “I’m safe,” Barry said.

            “OK.  I love you then, I’ll see you at five.”

            “I love you too, bye, I’ll – five.”

            “Bye, Scarlet.”

            And he hung up.  Barry put the phone back in his pocket.  I’m _safe,_ he thought again.  He wanted so much to believe it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

            Barry tapped his foot against the ground.  He had ordered pizzas, and now there were ten boxes stacked up and his stomach was churning so much he didn’t think he could eat one bite.

            “Relax,” Iris said.  She put a hand on Barry’s knee.  “It’s OK,” she said.

            “I don’t want to talk about this,” Barry mumbled.  He fiddled with his hands.

            Iris frowned.  “Barry, if you’re really not ready yet, it’s OK.  You don’t have to.”

            “Yes I do,” he said.

            “No, Barry, you don’t,” she said, firmer this time.  “It would be completely OK and completely in your rights to wait.  You don’t have to tell him anything that you don’t want to.”

            “But…”  He stopped, couldn’t help thinking how Len had sounded over the phone, how earnest, how worried.  He bit his lip.  _I love you, and that’s not changing anytime soon, Scarlet_ and Barry loved him too, and he couldn’t just… he trusted him.  He did, so why was this so hard?  “I have to,” he said.

            “Barry,” Iris said, “You don’t owe him anything.”  She stared at him for a second and then leaned back.  “It doesn’t mean you love him any less if you can’t tell him yet.  It’s OK.”

            And how did she always know what he was thinking, Barry wondered, but he just shook his head. 

            “No it’s… it’s been… it’s been a problem.  It’s going… it’s going to keep being a problem, and I… he should know.”

            “OK,” she said, and she was frowning.  “I mean… I agree that he can probably help, and it will probably be good for him to know, for the both of you, but you don’t have to, Barry.”

            Barry didn’t say anything.  He had to.  It was too far now.  He had to tell him.  He was going to tell him.  His stomach dropped.  Holy shit _he was going to tell him_.  Barry suddenly felt like he was going to throw up.

            And then the doorbell rang, and Barry went completely stiff.

            Iris looked at him, looked at the door, and then stopped to give his knee one more squeeze before getting up and going to open the door.  Barry sat on the couch, tensed, breath almost stuttering out.

            Len walked in, and Barry looked up.  Len smiled at him, but Barry was suddenly hit with how tired he looked – like he hadn’t slept at all the night before.  And he was hit with a painful slam of guilt, immediately thinking to him and Iris in his bed the night before.  He hadn’t called Len then.  He hadn’t known what to say. 

            “Hi, Scarlet,” Len said.

            Barry tried for a smile, but it wound up looking more like a grimace.  Barry wanted to apologize again, and at the same time his heart was still thundering along, his body still tense, and he felt so nervous, so anxious.  He wanted Len to wrap him in a hug, wanted Len to hold him, and then with a dizzying pang he realized that he couldn’t.

            Because suddenly the idea of someone touching him was repulsive, and he couldn’t understand the dizzying wash of both longing and fear which struck through him, the dual desire to be held and to keep everyone at least a few feet away from him – he didn’t think he could stand skin to skin contact right then, or anyone putting too much pressure on him, making him feel trapped, but at the same time he wanted desperately the reassurance and the comfort that a hug usually gave him.

            “Barry?”

            The smile slipped off Len’s face.  Barry’s expression had suddenly gone frozen, stuck in fear and guilt and pain, and his eyes were going vacant.  When Len stepped forward Barry flinched away.

            “Sorry,” Barry said, and he was breathing too fast, trying to get himself back under control.  He wrapped his arms around himself but couldn’t help leaning back, away from them.  “I – I’m sorry.  I just – I need a minute.  I’m sorry.”

            “It’s OK,” Len said, “I can stay over here.”  He took a step back, sat down on one of the other couches instead. 

            Barry relaxed a little, then shivered.  He tried to take deep breaths.  But the sudden onslaught of touch repulsion made the conversation he was about to have seem to crash down around him all over again and he was overwhelmed again.

            And the touch of hurt in Len’s voice – Barry didn’t miss that either, and he shook his head.

            “No,” he said, “it’s just – I don’t know, it’s not you, it’s – I – I –”

            “Barry, it’s OK,” Len said, and his voice was soft, “It’s OK.  I know.  I get it, Scarlet.  It’s alright.”

            Barry shook his head.  “I –”  He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say, didn’t know why this was hitting him now, usually he only felt this way when he was in a medical setting or right after he had panicked because of something sexual, it wasn’t usually this out of nowhere, especially recently.  “I’m sorry,” he said again, and he was close to crying.

            “Barry,” Iris said softly, “do you want me over there, or do you want me to stay on this side of the room too?”

            Barry shook his head.  “There,” he sputtered, scared and confused and he wanted help but he couldn’t stand the idea of either of them, of anyone getting close to him, close enough to hurt him.

            “OK,” Iris said, and she moved back too, sat down a good several feet away from him.  “Is this OK?”

            Barry nodded, then covered his face with his hands.  “I – I’m sorry – I don’t, I don’t know what now –”

            “Scarlet, why don’t you just try to take some deep breaths,” Len said.

            Barry nodded, worked to control his breathing.       

            “You’re OK,” Len said, “It’s OK.”

            _I’m safe,_ Barry thought, but it didn’t matter.  His body sure didn’t believe it. 

            They waited for Barry to calm down.  It didn’t take too long, but he didn’t really relax all the way either – he just stopped drowning in the repressive need to be away from people and was back to the same anxiety as before Len got there, only worse now.

            Barry fiddled with his hands.  The silence started to stretch and he didn’t know what to do with it.  He didn’t know what to say.  He didn’t want to start crying again, and he didn’t know how to start. 

            “Barry, do you want to try to talk about it now?” Iris finally said.

            Barry paused for a long moment, and then nodded, but didn’t say anything.  He kept fiddling with his fingers, kept looking down, avoiding eye contact.

            Iris gave him a moment, and when he didn’t say anything she continued, voice slow and careful, “Do you want me to start?”

            Barry shook his head.  No, he could do this.  He could.  He just… just didn’t know how.  He swallowed hard, opened his mouth, closed it again.

            They waited.  Barry was sweating.  He felt like the world was tunneling in.  He shook his head, tried to open his mouth again.  It felt like it was stuck.  It felt like his throat had closed up on him.

            “Do you want to start with last night?” Iris said slowly, “with why you left Len’s apartment?”

            “I… I panicked,” he said.

            He looked up just long enough to see Len’s concerned face, a half mask concealing what Barry knew was a lot more worry and hurt there.  Barry looked back down.

            “I… I panicked and I didn’t know how to face you afterwards.  I’m sorry.  I… I didn’t want to talk about it, and you… you were asking questions and I… I didn’t know what to do.  I’m sorry.”

            “It’s OK,” Len said, “I’m just… I’m just happy you’re OK, Scarlet.  I’m not mad.  It’s OK.”

            There was another long silence.  Barry felt like he was a string about to snap.

            “Do you want to talk about why you panicked?” Iris said, prompting again.

            Barry shook his head.  “No,” he breathed, before he could help it.  He put his head in his hands again.  “I… I get…”  He waited a long moment.  “It scared me,” he said.

            “Do you want to tell us why it scared you?” Iris said, her voice gentle, and Barry’s stomach spun and he hated this, wanted to run again, he couldn’t do this.  He shook his head.

            “Do you want to take a break, Barry?” Iris asked.

            But Barry shook his head, ran his hands over his face.  “No,” he said.  No, he could do this.  He had to do this.  He couldn’t take a break, he’d never actually have the conversation at all.  He wondered if he should just blurt it out, just blurt something out, like he had with Iris, but his mouth didn’t want to work.

            “I… I got scared because… because it reminded me of something,” he said, the last part all in a rush.  He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, hands clasped together and then his eyes darted upwards.

            Len was looking at him, and his eyes were so sad.

            “It… it…” he said, but he didn’t know how to end the sentence, didn’t know where he was going.  He looked desperately at Iris.

            “It’s OK,” she said, and she gave him a smile.  She waited, but he didn’t say anything.  “Do you want to tell Len what it was that it reminded you of?”

            Latex gloves, the sound of a cap opening up, the sick, horrid mix of shame and desire, the knowledge that he was helpless anyway, always helpless, and the continuous pleasure until he became so oversensitive, so raw, it hurt.  He didn’t want to think about it, tried so hard not to think about it, couldn’t think about it.

And suddenly everything was too much.

            Barry stood upright in a second and then he was trembling, almost vibrating.

            “I can’t,” he said.  He looked at Iris, desperately.  “I can’t – I, I’m sorry, I can’t, I can’t do this, I don’t – please, I don’t want to talk about it, I can’t talk about it, I can’t, I –”

            “Shh, Barry, it’s OK, it’s OK, you don’t have to,” Iris said, and her voice was still soft, gentle, and Barry was starting to cry, could feel tears in his eyes and he couldn’t help it.

            “I’m sorry,” he choked out, “I can’t, I – I can’t.”  And he looked at Len, scared, and he couldn’t do this.

            Len took a step forward, careful.  He paused.  “Scarlet, is… can I touch you?”

            And Barry nodded, and Len reached out, careful, but Barry stepped into it, stepped forward and buried his face in Len’s shoulder and Len held him.

            “Shh, it’s OK,” Len said, “it’s OK.”

            Barry cried.  “I’m sorry,” he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth.  “I’m sorry.  I can’t.  I can’t, I’m sorry.”

            “It’s OK,” Len said, “you don’t have to.  It’s OK.”

            “I’m sorry,” Barry said, “I’m sorry.”  And he wanted to say more, wanted to say he was pathetic was weak, wanted to say it hadn’t hurt that much, wasn’t that bad, but he hadn’t wanted it, he hadn’t, it’s just it hadn’t hurt, not like everything else, not at first, and he was sick with shame and guilt and pain and if Len would just hold him like this forever than maybe he’d somehow be OK anyway.

            Len held him, kept holding him until Barry had calmed down.

            “I don’t wanna do this tonight,” Barry said finally.  His voice cracked.  “I’m sorry – I really… I want to… I want to tell you I just, I can’t right now.”

            “OK,” Len said.

            Iris paused, then stood up.  She put a hand on Barry’s shoulder and he turned to look at her.  “Barry,” she said, “why don’t we try this again tomorrow, OK?  Unless you’ve changed your mind, and you want to wait longer.”

            “No, I… tomorrow,” he said, and bit his lip.  “Could… could you come over tomorrow morning?”

            “I have work,” she said.

            “Before work?”

            “Are you sure you don’t want to just wait until tomorrow night?” she asked.

            Barry shook his head.  “No, I’ll… I’ll just keep thinking about it.  I… I want to do it tomorrow morning.  If… if you can come.”

            She sighed.  “I’ll be over here at eight thirty, OK?  But I can only stay an hour, then.  Is that alright?”

            “Yeah,” he said, “yeah that… thank you.”

            She smiled, and he moved away from Len to hug her. 

            “Don’t worry about it,” she said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

 

 

 

            They didn’t talk about it the rest of the night.  They ate some food, watched a movie, and went to bed.  In the morning, Len made breakfast (after Joe had already left for work) and Barry started to feel nervous again.  He ate only a few bites, but Len didn’t comment.  Iris arrived at eight thirty and joined them, still at the kitchen table.  She sat next to Barry, and when he gave her a weak smile she took his hand.

            “OK,” Barry said, and he smiled again, or tried to.  He looked up, a quick glance at Len, and then back down again.  “What I… I went to Iris’s the other night because… I panicked, and I… I didn’t know how to tell you.  And… I… I didn’t mean for it… for it to be a secret really.  I just… it wasn’t as important.  At first, I mean.  Like… when I first got back, they… it happened when they had me, that’s… it wasn’t like, when I was in college or something like that, it was when they had me, so it just… it didn’t seem as important.  It wasn’t important. I’m not, not like sugar coating it or something it really just wasn’t as important, wasn’t as big a deal when I first got out, I didn’t even really… didn’t really think about it that much, because I had to have tests and I kept getting hurt and that was so much worse and even the nightmares they weren’t… they were always about when they cut into me and did surgeries and broke bones and things, it wasn’t… it wasn’t usually about this, so it… it just didn’t seem like as big a deal.  And then… and then it was.”

            He looked up, looked down again.  There was a lump in his throat and he couldn’t tell if it was fear or shame.  Iris squeezed his hand.

            “And that’s… that’s why I’ve been… been panicking.  It, I mean, it wasn’t an issue before, not really, right, because I – I mean you’re the first person I’ve dated since I was back, so it just… it wasn’t as much of an issue.  I’m sorry I lied, I just… I didn’t want to talk about it.”

            There was a beat of silence and then Len got up from his chair and walked around the table and Barry’s eyes widened and then Len was next to him and pulling him in for a hug.  Barry wrapped his arms around him, and at least a little bit of the anxious mess in his stomach settled again.

            “I’m so sorry,” Len said.  His voice was quiet, just a whisper, and Barry rested his head against his shoulder.  “I’m so, so sorry,” he said.

            “But it wasn’t you,” Barry said after a moment, and he pulled away a little bit, to look at him, “Len it, I wanted – I wanted to, I swear, I just – I panicked, all at once, it wasn’t your fault, I – I thought I’d be OK.”

            Len nodded slowly.  “OK,” he said softly.

            “You weren’t hurting me,” Barry said, and his voice was steadier than he thought he could make it.  “You weren’t, Len.  And I… I don’t know how… how to guarantee it won’t happen again, because I… I can’t… I don’t know I’m going to panic until I’m already panicking.”

            “OK,” Len said.  He hugged him close again.  He paused again, leaned back, and took a long breath.  “So it… the people who took you… it was them?”

            Barry nodded slowly.  He looked down again, eyes darting up, then back.

            “They raped you?” And it came out so soft, a voice Barry had never heard before on him.

            “No,” Barry said.  He shook his head, took a deep breath.  “No, they…”

            Len looked at him, confused.  “They hurt you?”

            “Well, yes, no – it…”  Barry trailed off.  “It didn’t… sometimes it hurt…”

            Len kept looking at him.  “They… can I… if you want to stop now, that’s, that’s OK, Scarlet, we don’t have to keep talking if you don’t – this is a lot, for one day, and, I’m – I’m just trying to understand, but only if you’re OK talking…”

            “I’m OK,” Barry said softly.

            “Can you… so they… they’re the reason you panic, but… they didn’t, they didn’t rape you, so they – is it just the touching?  Like how you don’t like anyone touching you sometimes, is it just that – because you were naked on the table, is it…”

            “Um,” Barry said, “It’s… it’s a little more… than that.”  He took a deep breath.  “They just… they touched me.  There, I mean.  They… they wanted to run tests, to… they wanted tests.”

            Len blinked at him.

            “I think,” Iris said, drawing their attention over to her for a moment, “that Len is confused Barry, about how you said you weren’t raped.”

            “I wasn’t,” Barry said, looking at Iris, “they… I told you.  They didn’t… no one, no one did that.”

            “They didn’t penetrate you,” Iris said, and Barry winced.

            “No, except… that.”

            “Except?” Len said, and he stiffened.

            “A… tests, it wasn’t… it wasn’t sexual, there was a colonoscopy or something…”

            Len winced, but his muscles untightened just a bit too.  “Ah.”

            “What I meant, Barry,” Iris said, “Is I’m not sure yours and mine, or yours and Len’s definitions of rape are the same.”

            Barry blinked at her.  “It wasn’t… that’s not what it was though.  It wasn’t…”

            “I think that there are many people,” Iris said gently, “that would call what happened to you rape.”

            Barry tensed a little, paused, then shook his head.  “No,” he said.  “No, that’s… I mean, I know – it was wrong, I’m not saying… like it’s – I know it’s wrong, it’s just, I – I wasn’t raped.  That’s – no.  No.  I – that didn’t, that’s not what it was like, that’s – it was – I mean, I didn’t – I didn’t want it, and that – that makes it wrong, and if, if it happened to someone else it would be – it’s bad, it’s – it’s wrong but it wasn’t like that, I – I told you, it was – they were clinical, they were – it was to test things, and they didn’t, no one –”

            “Hey,” Iris said, interrupting him, “It’s OK.  Barry, you can call it whatever you want.  I just meant I think that’s what has Len confused.  That’s all.”

            But Barry was still upset, was fidgeting in his seat, because he hadn’t been thinking about it like that and he – he couldn’t.  He couldn’t think about it like that.  He didn’t want to become any more of a victim to something than he already was and that… no.  He couldn’t think about it like that, couldn’t think about himself like that.

            “Scarlet,” Len said softly.

            Barry turned to look at him.  He sucked in a breath, and before he could think about it too much said, “They… they touched me.  I mean, that’s… that’s what happened.  They wanted to run tests and they… I don’t know, they wanted DNA or sperm counts or… or I don’t know, to see if my children would be speedsters or not or… I don’t know.  And then they wanted… they wanted to run tests on me, on… because… because after the lightening, it um… it had some side effects.  I mean you… you know I… I start losing some control when…”

            “You vibrate,” Len said flatly.

            Barry huffed a laugh, and there was a spark of humour in Len’s eyes that let Barry relax a little bit more.  “Yeah,” he breathed, “yeah, that, so… there’s… I mean, my body regenerates fast, with my healing and my metabolism and everything, so I um… I don’t really have a… a refractory period.”  He said it all fast.

            Len’s eyebrows shot up.  “I hadn’t considered that,” he said, and it was obvious he was going for another smile but Barry just winced.

            He looked down again.  “Yeah, that… that’s where it got painful,” he mumbled.  He rubbed his hands on his jeans, looked at the table.  “It – it hurts… after a while.  It starts to hurt.”

            When he glanced up again Len was frowning, his eyes sad.  “I’m sorry, Scarlet,” he said.

            Barry nodded, an awkward nod, where he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.  He suddenly felt very alone, and wanted very much not to feel that way.  He started breathing a little faster.  “The-they wouldn’t stop,” he burst out, and he kept rubbing his palms against his jeans, kept fidgeting, but he couldn’t stop, wanted to tell someone, and it was like the way he burst out about the injuries, was the same thing, where it was spinning around in his head and he couldn’t stop thinking about it, felt like he was going to drown in it.  “It – it would start to hurt, and they… they just kept going.  I-it wasn’t that bad at first, it wasn’t that – they just – just one was OK, when they just, when they just wanted a sperm count, when they just – because it was just once, and that – I didn’t want it, I still – I didn’t want it, I swear, I didn’t, it’s just that it didn’t hurt and they’d come in and I was so scared – I was always so scared, and I’d think – I’d think that they were going to cut into me, that they’d break something, that they’d cut me open, and then when they – when they did that instead, it was… I just…”

            Barry paused, sucked in a breath, trembled, and then squeezed his eyes shut for a second and let out half a sob.

            “I was so fucking relieved,” Barry said, “because they – they were doing that, and not – not pain.  There wasn’t pain.  But I didn’t like it.  I didn’t.  I didn’t want it, I didn’t, I told them to stop, but they would just gag me, sometimes they’d… I didn’t talk, because they didn’t like that, they’d – they’d hurt me if I talked, so it – I stopped asking them to stop, but I didn’t want it, I swear, it’s just it didn’t hurt, so – so I’d take it over being cut into, but I didn’t like it, I _didn’t_.”

            “Barry,” Iris said, and she put a hand on his shoulder.  “Barry,” she said again, and she waited until he looked over at her, biting his lip, tears welled up in his eyes, “we believe you.  We believe you, Barry.  You don’t have to explain yourself to us.  It’s OK.”

            He let out another sob.

            “He… he told me I wanted it,” Barry said, and then he squeezed his eyes shut.  “I _didn’t._ ”

            In that moment, Len wouldn’t have hesitated for even a millisecond. If that man was there, the man who said that, the people who did this, to Barry, he would have killed them.  He would have killed them all, and not felt one ounce of regret for it.  He was so angry, was so, so angry, and even as he tensed, as he could feel his blood pressure rising, his body heated up, he knew that the last thing Barry needed right then was for him to get angry.

            “It’s just – it didn’t hurt,” Barry said, “I just wanted them to stop hurting me.”

            “I know,” Iris said, and she wiped away a tear where it fell on Barry’s face.  “We know Barr.  And we are so, so sorry this happened to you.  You didn’t deserve that, and none of it was your fault, OK?”

            Barry nodded.  Iris squeezed his shoulder.  Len held him, and Barry turned back and pressed his forehead to Len’s shoulder, and cried.

            “It’s OK,” Len said, “you’re safe now.  I love you.  You’re safe now.”

            “I’m safe,” Barry repeated.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :) If you liked it, you hated it, you have a suggestion, or just want to make me happy, please comment! It makes my day to read them :)


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